


Ipso Facto

by AlexiaBlackbriar13, bushlaboo



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Like occasional fluff, accidental team arrow parents fic, and you broke all the rules, fic chess, i blame lexi, if paint by numbers was a fanfic thing, mostly it's just pain, really we’re just spiraling, s2 AU, seriously we have a limited idea what is going to happen, she blames me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-19 03:03:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 51,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8186945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexiaBlackbriar13/pseuds/AlexiaBlackbriar13, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bushlaboo/pseuds/bushlaboo
Summary: This started with no plot, no plan … though now we have a more solid idea of where we’re going, just not how we’ll get there in this game of one-upmanship. Seriously we’re making up most of it as we go along. What we can say with certainty is that this is a back half of S2 AU, fix-it fic where you'll need to prepare yourself to spiral over Moira Queen and Walter Steele. Also includes several secret identity reveals.





	1. An Accidental Tale Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to fic chess one and all! Lexi and I accidentally started this game and just kept rolling with it because we love Moira Queen, Walter Steele, and shipping their in denial selves … along with pretty much all things _Arrow_. Also, apparently we just cannot help ourselves. If you’ve followed along with our battle in Lexi's amazing _Little Bird Blue_ comments or on Tumblr you’ll see nothing new here except for a few minor typographical corrections. ~ Marian
> 
> ... We spiralled. We do not regret it. ~ Lexi

* * *

“How much is too much do you think?” Moira mused before taking a sip from her almost empty martini. The Arrow had just taken on a ridiculous villain calling himself the Clock King and she figured the conversation she'd overheard between Oliver and Mr. Diggle about Verdant's systems needing to be rebuilt and enhanced meant that the Arrow was going to be making a sizable equipment purchase in the near future.

She and Walter had spent the cocktail hour discussing her mayoral campaign as originally intended, but as it had become common through their tacit agreement with business concluded and drinks almost gone they've moved on to discussing _their_ children as Walter had insisted shortly after Oliver's return. It was clear to Moira that Thea looked upon Walter as much as her father has Robert had been, but the same could not be said for her son. Though their relationship had started off rocky she knew a mutual respect and affection had developed between the two men for which she was extremely thankful. Though she was still regretful that they could not settle the personal differences between them enough to salvage their marriage, just having Walter in her life - having one person who knew her and all her secrets, someone who'd keep them - was enough.

Walter's dark eyes danced with amusement as he answered, “Well, Ms. Smoak is probably the one monitoring their bank account.” They shared a knowing look over that remark. Moira knew how fond Walter was of the IT specialist turned executive assistant and what hopes he had for Oliver's relationship with her, but she had trouble feeling the same about Felicity Smoak. Perhaps it was a sense of resentment. Her son had trusted another woman over her with his secret and his mission, had allowed her to help, when he had lied and evaded her. Not that she had high ground to stand on there, but she was Oliver's mother. If anyone deserved to know all sides of him, to support all his activities - legal or otherwise - it was her.

Avoiding what was becoming an old argument Walter continued, “Let me look at records from Oliver's accounts. It may be wiser to add funds to the amount he transfers to his _special_ account instead of having unexpected deposits.”

“That seems wise,” she agreed. A pleased smile spread across his face and Walter lift his glass in toast. Moira tinged hers against his and they drank to their decision. “You're having lunch with Thea tomorrow?” she inquired setting down her now empty glass. Her fingers settled over the pick holding the two olives which had been swimming in her drink.

“Yes,” he confirmed, “and before you ask I plan on inviting her to be my plus one to the hospital charity event next week. I know having a Queen presence there is important on a number of levels for you.”

“It is, thank you Walter. If I could have rescheduled the Glades town hall event I would, but ...” she trailed off, not needing to explain to him the importance of being there for anything Glades related was to her campaign. “You may need to cajole her with the promise of new dress. If it comes to that I would be happy to reimburse you.”

“No need,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I almost hope it does. I've missed shopping excursions with Thea.”

Moira laughed deep and easy, the happy sound rolled out around them garnering them a few speculatively looks. She knew neither she nor Walter cared about them as his laughter joined hers. “Only you would miss that,” she told him pulling in her amusement though her jeweled eyes continued to glow with gratitude.

“Thea has always been my favorite whirlwind.” On that they were in complete agreement and with that thought Moira once again found herself missing the relationship they'd shared before all of her awful decisions.

* * *

 

Moira watched with a smile as Walter approached the Queen mansion having exited a black sedan with Oliver at his side. The two of them were both in a deep conversation, Mr. Diggle following along behind them with a smirk on his face as he listened to them. However, as her son and ex-husband came closer, the Queen matriarch frowned in concern.

Oliver was limping. Visibly. He was favouring his right leg, trying not to make it too obvious that he was injured. But Moira was his mother - she had raised him, and although her son had been... different since he had arrived back from the island, she knew his tells. Oliver had been hurt out on the streets doing his duties as the Arrow.

“Mom,” Oliver greeted her pleasantly, a small smile quirking his lips.

“Good morning, Oliver,” she replied kindly. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

The archer stiffened visibly, and Moira cursed herself internally. “What do you mean?” he asked shortly.

She quickly lied, “You spent the entire night at the office, and you look a little tired.”

“Right. At the office,” he muttered as if reminding himself. Moira fought back the urge to roll her eyes.

“Oliver, why don't you head into the library, I'll fetch the paperwork you need in a moment,” Walter interrupted, sharing an amused look with Moira. “I need to speak with your mother for a few minutes.”

The archer nodded hurriedly, taking the excuse and pressing a hasty kiss to his mother's cheek before vanishing inside the house.

Diggle nodded in respect to both of them before tailing his charge. The two parents exchanged pointed glances before Moira stepped aside to let Walter in. Leading the man to the living room, she poured two tumblers of neat scotch she kept at the back of the room.

“He's injured,” she said casually. “Do you have any idea how seriously he's hurt?”

“He's been limping since I met him in the Queen Consolidated lobby,” Walter responded with a sigh, taking one of the tumblers and sipping delicately. “It must have happened when he was patrolling last night.”

Moira closed her eyes, ducking her head down as worry overtook her mind once again. “He's going to get himself killed, Walter. My son puts himself in mortal danger every single night, and there is absolutely nothing I can do as his mother to help him. Yes, I can provide funds and the occasionally excuse to the QC board and police, but I can't help him where it really counts. I can't lose my son, again, Walter.”

A hand slipped into hers, and when the Queen matriarch opened her eyes, she found Walter staring at her steadily with a strong, yet sympathetic gaze. “We do what we can, Moira,” he murmured. “As much as it pains us, we have to let Oliver do this for himself. And we have to trust Ms. Smoak and Mr. Diggle to keep him safe and alive. And they are most definitely the best people for the job.”

* * *

 

Walter’s touch was comforting and achingly familiar. Moira pushed aside the need it stirred in her and instead focused on the knowledge that she was not alone in her concern. She was exceedingly grateful to know that there was another person out there who would do anything for children.

Three days later Walter had again gone above and beyond. Isabel Rochev attempted another power move. The uppity girl had never learned her lesson and that continued to leave a bitter taste in Moira’s mouth. Even having won the war between them years ago – Robert chose to stay with his family and dismiss his mistress from their company – Moira found it grating that Isabel (she would not give that woman the importance of thinking of her as Ms. Rochev) continued to battle.

The detestable woman’s latest maneuver was dropping some not so subtle hints about Oliver’s overly friendly relationship with his EA to a number of influential Ferris Aircraft board members. Queen Consolidated had been working for nearly a year on a joint venture between the two companies to design and manufacture the most technological advance plane on the market.

“You know how Henry is,” Walter said with mild distaste in his tone as they stretched their impromptu get together out. The fact that she could detect even a hint of dislike for the man only proved how much her ex-husband disapproved of him.

Their coffee had gone cool, but she took a sip as he delighted in sharing the next part of his tale – interrupting the conversation, politely of course, and dropping a bit of ‘truth tea’ as Thea would term it on the group maligning her son. His esteem for Ms. Smoak was apparent as he repeated the words he'd stated the night before, including taking the credit for having introduced the duo. Walter ended his recap with, “I did quite enjoy the sour look on Isabel’s face I when mentioned that Felicity had worked directly on some of the proposed computer system designs before her promotion.”

She laughed triumphantly at the image he conjured of an outfoxed Isabel Rochev and thought it a shame that Oliver would never fully realize the various little kindnesses Walter performed to ease his way along, both as CEO and as the Starling City vigilante. Since her son did not know thanks were needed, she placed her hand over Walter’s and expressed her gratitude on his behalf.

If her thumb rubbed over his knuckles in an intimate way echoing numerous touches they shared throughout their marriage, neither said a word, even though they both enjoyed the sensation.

* * *

 

Four days after Moira and Walter's dinner date, they were out at a restaurant once again. Moira's hand was curled into Walter's as they both laughed softly at the Brit's tale of when Thea had first introduced him to In-N-Out burgers. They had just ordered a strawberry cheesecake to share, smiling gently as they just enjoyed each other’s company, when somebody approached and interrupted. It was like a bucket of ice water being cascaded over both of them.

“Mrs. Queen?” Quentin Lance asked hesitantly. “I'm sorry to interrupt. I was wondering if I could... Have a word?”

“And what exactly would this word be about, detective?” Walter questioned stiffly, squeezing her hand.

“Mr. Steele,” Lance greeted him, before turning back to Moira. “I'd prefer to do this in private, if possible.”

“I'm getting nervous, Quentin,” Moira said quietly. “Why exactly do you want to do this in private?” Seeing the detective side-eyeing Walter suspiciously, she added, “Anything you say in front of me can be said in front of Walter.”

Lance took a shaky breath, glancing around warily before reaching into his jacket and pulling out a photo, placing it face down onto the table. The Queen matriarch quickly checked to make sure nobody was spying on the three of them before sliding the photo towards her and turning it over. Instantly, it was like all the oxygen was being sucked out of Moira's lungs.

The police's evidence that Oliver was the Arrow lay before her, clear as day; a picture of Oliver in his green leathers, Hood down as he had a discussion with both Felicity and Mr. Diggle in the back alleyway of Verdant.

An irrational anger overwhelmed the woman. Had Lance come to threaten her son? If so, he wouldn't see the light of day again. Exhaling heavily, Moira slid the photo over to Walter, whose gaze immediately hardened upon seeing it. “What do you want, Detective Lance?” He questioned coldly.

“I think we should have this conversation somewhere more private.”

“Are we going to need our lawyers for this _conversation_?” Walter questioned Moira quietly.

Lance shook his head. “Just a conversation. I swear. I'm the only person who has seen this photo. Nobody else needs to. I just want to talk.”

Moira exchanged a glance with Walter. The Brit nodded sharply. Rising from her seat, she called for the check before turning back to the detective, saying lowly, “We will head back to the Queen mansion to discuss this. But mark my words, Quentin, if you dare threaten to lay a single hand on our son, you shall sorely regret it.”

“Noted.”

* * *

 

A year ago if someone had gift wrapped the opportunity to nail Oliver Queen to the wall, Quentin Lance would have jumped all over it. That he was dangerously close to skirting the law – hell, Quentin thought, more like just downright ignoring it – his only solace was that he wasn’t technically breaking it. Officially.

It wasn’t as though Quentin had stolen evidence. The secret outing picture had been left taped to his apartment door with slanted handwriting from an anonymous source. _I can help end your pursuit and reclaim your detective shield_. His zealot-like hunt for the Hood had been well documented in the press, but he had come to see the vigilante differently after the Undertaking and Barton Mathis, after assurances that he was trying another way (even after slipping with the Count - Quentin understood, he knew what it was to take a life to save another while in uniform) and Sara.

So yes, a year had changed a lot, but standing in the Queen mansion facing off with the united front of Moira Queen and Walter Steele over the antics of her son felt like déjà vu. The exes stood side by side, shoulders touching and Quentin couldn’t help but wonder about when and how their relationship had gone from divorce to … denial dating. He’d attempted that with Dinah, but it appeared to him that neither was aware of, or perhaps it was willing to admit to, the true nature of their relationship.

Not that it mattered. How the Queen matriarch and her ex-husband chose to spend their free time didn’t concern him. Oliver Queen being outed as the Arrow, dragging down Felicity Smoak and John Diggle with him and potentially Sara, was the issue at hand. He had anticipated shock at the picture but apparently the mayoral candidate and her primary backer knew more about their son’s activities than Quentin suspected.

Denial it seemed was a human trait they all shared.

“Obviously, my son got a little too authentic with his costume for an upcoming event Thea is hosting at Verdant,” Moira stated, finally breaking the tense standoff. Beside her Walter nodded as if trying to convey with the movement the idea that boys will be boys and rich ones took it the extra mile.

An eyebrow furled speculatively. “That’s really how you plan to play this?” he asked, tone droll.

Moira’s face pinched. “ _Officer_ Lance, I do not play with my son’s life and anyone who does will not fare well,” she cautioned, in full mother bear mode. A soothing hand ran down her arm before forcing her clenched hand to loosen so it could be held.

“Believe me I know,” he huffed.

“Quentin,” Walter’s accented voice was smooth and cajoling. “Certainly you of all people know what it is to need to protect your child from themself.”

His teeth gnashed at the politely worded warning. Knowing about Oliver’s extracurricular activities, the duo had to know, or at least suspect, Sara’s involvement. Quentin stepped forward, adjusting his weapon’s belt. His quarry were not the only ones who knew how to intimidate. “I do, Walter,” he all but spat, “but like always, it is not _my_ kid being reckless.” Before either could comment beyond Moira’s gasp, he continued, “An anonymous source thinks they’re doing me a favor. Normally I’d take this to Ms.Smoak but that will throw my plausible deniability out the window. I can’t use police resources to track down my unwanted friend, but I am well aware you have avenues to find and convince them to forget what they think they know.”

His request was acknowledged with a slight tilt of Moira’s chin. The woman was icy and dangerous when it came to her family; the whole city had learned that the hard way, so Quentin felt compelled to warn her, “If it’s a body you drop, and not a fat check you write, I will happily toss you back in prison, mayoral aspirations or not.”

“Understood,” Walter’s clipped voice sounded in reply, as he stepped protectively in front of Moira. “Though should anything incriminating be revealed, the consequences will not be felt by us alone.”

It was pact of mutually assured protection and destruction, one he would have hated himself for a year ago for, but was decidedly okay with today. Instead of offering a hand to shake, he informed his new partners that he had the envelope the picture was delivered in to get for them. Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel to retrieve it from his car.

* * *

 

As soon as Lance exited the room to fetch the envelope, leaving Walter and Moira standing alone, Moira exhaled forcefully, knees going weak as she half crumpled to the ground. Luckily, Walter seemed to read the situation quickly enough to slip his arm around her waist and hold her upright against him, keeping the Queen matriarch from hitting the ground. Moira was almost shaking from her anger, and although she hated to admit it, her fear.

“Moira?” Walter asked worriedly as she buried her head into his jacket. Hesitantly, the Brit flicked a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear. Her breath caught; he used to that that back when they were married, when they laid wrapped in each other’s arms in bed after a difficult day at work. “Are you alright?”

“Our son is being threatened by a maniac trying to expose him as the Arrow, Walter,” she replied stiffly, her voice muffled. Tightening her fists around his lapels, she whispered, ”I am anything _but_ alright at the moment.”

Walter nodded understandingly, and his hand came up to cradle the back of Moira’s head. She couldn’t contain a quiet sob from escaping her chest, and if possible, the Brit’s arms tightened their embrace around her even more. “I know.”

“It’s absurd how _angry_ I’m feeling.” She drew back, clenching her fists in her fury, but Walter once again, like he did before, reached down and twisted his fingers into her palm to force her fingers to loosen and relax. ”Whoever took that photo, Walter - I want to  _destroy them_.”

“And we will,” Walter said, his eyes glittering darkly. “We’ll eradicate the threat to our son, and Oliver’s secret identity will be safe again - but we have to stay calm, and focused. Trust me, dear, I’m angry too, but we have to keep our heads on straight and deal with this efficiently.”

“What do we do?” she sighed. “Do we tell Oliver? Allow the team to prepare for fallout if this lunatic decides to release the photos to the press? I want to help them.”

Walter shook his head. “No, we can’t let Oliver know that we know yet. We’re in the exact right position at the moment to help the team as much as we can. If they knew that we knew, they would try to keep us out of the action for our own safety.” Straightening his back, he said more loudly, “No, we have to deal with this personally.”

Moira turned slightly and saw that Lance had re-entered the room and was staring at them quietly as he stood in the doorway; that was probably why Walter had raised his voice, attempting to warn her that they were being eavesdropped on. Clearing his throat, Lance came forwards with an envelope, offering it cautiously.

Taking it delicately with one hand, whilst her other remained in Walter’s grasp, the Queen matriarch examined it closely, her eyes dancing across the paper.

“I know it’s not much to go on,” Lance said, sounding annoyed at the fact. “But I thought maybe -”

“It’s from City Hall,” Moira interrupted.

Walter squeezed her hand. ”How do you know?”

“They order specially styled, thin parchment envelopes,” she informed them, handing it over. “I’ve received many letters and documents from the current interim mayor’s office since my own campaign began, I would recognise their envelopes anywhere.”

“So somebody from City Hall,” Lance mused.

“The photo itself is of good quality,” Walter added. “Maybe a photographer.”

Realisation sparked in the detective’s eyes. “Andrea Leeson. She’s an official photographer working in the marketing department. Her husband, Reese Leeson, was handed over to SCPD by the Arrow last month and found to be embezzling money from multiple charities set up to help victims of the Undertaking in the Glades.”

“Makes sense,” Walter said. “She wants to see the man who put her husband behind bars, in jail himself. She wants revenge. But why not go for the direct approach and leak the photo straight to the media?”

A sheepish look crossed Lance’s face. “Yeah… last year I got her out of a tight spot with a sexual harassment charge. She probably thinks she owes me or something.” He paused. “Or, ya know, she’s crazy and for some reason decided I would be able to deal out the best form of justice. Thought that I would bring your son in, arrest him, get him shoved into a cell for the rest of his life.”

“I wonder why,” Moira said flatly, managing to keep the rage that was boiling below the surface at the thought of somebody within City Hall, who could have been working for her if she succeeded in becoming mayor, threatening her son. 

Nobody threatened her family. If this woman was going to try and hurt Oliver, then she was going to suffer. Moira knew that Quentin just expected her and Walter to wave a big fat checkbook and pay the woman off for her silence, and get her to destroy the photos, but there was absolutely no way Moira was going to let her get away with it scot-free.

“Walter,” she said calmly. “I think we need to make an appointment with Ms. Leeson for some official campaign photos. Don’t you?”

Walter’s eyes were gleaming. “Exactly what I was thinking, dear.”

* * *

 

Andrea had dealt with a lot of crap over the years. Her father had been a drunk who'd enjoyed spending her mother’s hard-earned money on booze, leaving little cash for the necessities of life such as food, clothing, and shelter. They’d been booted from a half-dozen crappy apartment buildings by time she turned ten, and she’d been teased mercilessly about her shoes held together with duct tape and too often mended clothes.

Frankly, the best thing that happened to her during her childhood was having her overly devout grandmother get fed up with the conditions her ‘grandbaby’ lived in; forcibly removing Andrea from the care of her deadbeat son-in-law and the weak-willed daughter who refused to leave him. Trading an hour each day on her knees, praying to a God she didn’t believe in, seemed like a fair trade to have a room all her own that wasn’t at risk of being snatched away and a full stomach at the end of each day.

Granted, she’d grown tired of the pretense of it all by time she turned sixteen, but the church youth group her grandmother insisted she join was responsible for introducing her to the first great love of her life: a camera. She’d been twelve the first time she held an Asahi Pentax K1000 in her sweaty palms; the job of capturing the church’s strawberry festival had been pawned off on her by an older girl, so that she and her boyfriend could go make out in some hidden nook of the chapel. By the end of the three hour event, Andrea had fallen in love with photography.

Because she craftily played the advantages to the church – free photographer for all events – her grandmother had been happy to pay for photography equipment and extra after-school classes, though the old hag had insisted on her at least getting an associate’s degree in another field while attending college for photography. Without that promise, she’d been unwilling to cough up the money for Andrea’s continuing education.

In the long run it had been a fair deal, especially since grandma funded college in Starling City introduced her to the other great love of her life, Reese Leeson. His handsome face and talented … _everything_ , made him irresistible, and if he fibbed and worked the angles, she had a hard time faulting him. It wasn’t like he was leaving his family in the lurch after all – he was doing whatever necessary to see to their lifestyle; no easy feat in Starling, particularly in the aftermath of Malcolm Merlyn’s Undertaking.

So what if Reese had been a little sticky fingered with charity funds? Everyone made such a big deal about the 503 and the Glades, but it wasn’t like the rest of Starling had been unaffected. Even folks with the last name of Queen dealt with inconveniences like jail. Not that plebeians such as herself came out of the Undertaking with the ability to run for mayor.

Andrea shook the sour thought from her mind as she readied the backdrop for Moira Queen’s photo shoot. The thought of having to plaster on a smile while working with the mother of the man responsible for her husband’s incarceration was a bitter pill. A Queen conspired to ravage the city and got the opportunity to be its mayor. Her husband siphoned funds to keep them afloat and had been forced to return every last dime, got slapped with an additional $5,000 dollar fine and sentenced to 10 years in prison.

All whilst the murderer running around in a green hood that turned him in got off scot-free.

Not for long, she reminded herself gleefully. Though really she’d expected former Detective Lance to have snatched up Oliver Queen the second after he’d viewed the photograph she’d supplied. That seventy-two hours had gone by made her antsy. That Moira Queen had called the morning after her delivery of the incriminating picture… if she wasn’t well aware of the animosity between Quentin Lance and the Queens, she’d almost be worried.

The gossip she’d heard just the other day, that Oliver Queen was dating Sara Lance, reassured Andrea that Lance was just waiting for the right moment to sweep up the Queen scion and his merry little band of helpers. No way would he want a repeat of their last involvement.

Picturing Oliver and his underlings all being carted off in handcuffs, with Moira Queen disgraced and her chances at holding public office destroyed, soothed Andrea. On top of that pretty picture, she’d be getting a thousand dollar check for taking publicity pictures that Moira Queen would never get to use today.

It was only fitting, Andrea thought, an even trade.

* * *

 

Walter Steele thought himself a reasonable man. Though never a pushover, a solid well-reasoned argument could get him to change his mind. Well, that or dogged persistence, as Felicity Smoak proved.  Now the young woman whom he thought so highly of and aided in his son’s mission was in danger, as was their partner John Diggle. There was no doubt in Walter’s mind who was responsible for opening up the closed-offed man Oliver had been upon his return.

As much Oliver loved his mother and sister, as important as Tommy and Laurel were to him, everyone had expected him to be 'Ollie'. That first night back in the manor, watching Oliver peel away from Moira wide-eyed and horrified – trembling at his actions – Walter knew the young man had changed. Though he hadn’t agreed with Moira’s choice to hire a bodyguard after Oliver’s kidnapping (the move was even more ridiculous now knowing that she’d been the one to take him in the first place) he had noticed an almost immediate difference in the lad with Mr. Diggle around. Whatever the man had sparked, Ms. Smoak had set aflame, and though still cautious and tentative, the fact that Oliver was trying to connect on a real level with his family had been apparent.

The progression of the Hood from violent vigilante to heroic defender had everything to do with how Oliver’s partners saw him, and through their eyes, how he saw himself. Andrea Leeson was a threat to all of that – to the good work Oliver was doing and the personal progression he’d made since returning home.

He shared in Moira’s desire to destroy the danger to their family. The idea of ruining the woman so completely that she could take millions of photographs of Oliver decked out in his hood and no one would believe them felt like a deep thirst burning through him. Knowing that deft and tact were needed, at least until all the copies of the image and any others she might have were destroyed, bothered Walter on an elemental level.

The cool British upper lip mentality had been ingrained in him and rarely had it failed, but it was threatening to do so now. Perhaps it was because he was feeding off of Moira’s tension. Though her face was serene as they walked down the street towards Leeson’s studio, he could see through the public mask she put on – her skin was pallid under her makeup – just how upset the situation had her.

He cupped her elbow, slowing them down to stop and eased his lanky frame into her personal space. “Are you quite sure you’re up for this?”

She gazed up at him, her hard eyes softening under the support he offered. A small but genuine smile touched her lips, breaking her mask. “Not entirely,” she answered truthfully. His wi— _Moira_ had endured some of the world’s greatest evil and although she had a spine of steel, he could still remember the shattered woman who’d been unable to leave her bed after the Gambit was lost. She had to build herself back up, reinforce her inherent strength after that. When her children were involved, it wasn’t that she faltered so much as the stakes meant everything to her. When failure was not an option, her caution could be misconstrued as weakness, but Walter knew that was when she was most dangerous … and most volatile.

“I could still handle this on my own,” he offered. That had been a point of contention. The protective mother in Moira could not allow someone to take a swipe at her children without her wrath being felt. He’d conceded there, but not on the money. That had caused a virulent argument where Moira had shot off a few choice words about Felicity’s inquiring mind and the right she had to snoop. He’d ended the dispute with frosty words of censure. The hurt he’d seen on her face at the time had not bothered him, but after his emotions had settled Walter regretted how he’d left things between them.

He was glad for the moment they were sharing now as the polite, seeming indifference that had passed between them on the car ride over, had twisted his gut. Married or not, furious or not, one thing Walter would never be when it came to Moira Queen was indifferent. She mattered too much, their relationship mattered too much.

The change that swept through her was infinitesimal. No one but him would be able to see the difference, but she was standing a little straighter, her shoulders more square, and a predatory gleam shone in her eyes. “No, this needs a mother’s touch.”

Convinced now that she was ready for however the confrontation unfolded, Walter did not argue, he merely slid his hand to the small of her back. He left it resting there as they continued their brief walk to the photography studio.

* * *

 

It was safe to say that Moira Queen hated photoshoots as much as her son did. She’d forced Oliver, Thea and Robert into many family photoshoots back in the day - for QC press events, for their Christmas cards - and she had no doubt that her children thought that she enjoyed the limelight, dressing up nicely with impeccable makeup. In actual fact, Moira despised it. She considered herself a rather private woman, who prided herself on the secrets she managed to hide from the media. Photoshoots made her feel vulnerable and exposed.

She hated this photoshoot even more, simply vibrating in anger, but that was mostly because the woman behind the camera taking the pictures was threatening to expose her son and drag her family and Oliver’s team through the mud to get revenge for her criminal husband.

“Turn a little to the left, please, Mrs. Queen,” Leeson ordered sweetly, although her smile was more of a grimace. The woman was trying her best to mask her hatred of Moira, but was epically failing. “About five more minutes and we’ll be done.”

“Walter,” Moira said, faking enthusiasm. “Why don’t you join me, dear?”

Leeson lowered her camera. “I thought these photos for your campaign, Mrs. Queen.”

“Walter is my main support,” she replied, her tone cold. “I’d like him in some of the photos.”

Leeson shrugged carelessly. “Okay then.” The smug bitch. She most likely thought that these photos were pointless, that Moira’s mayoral campaign would be crashing and burning within the next few days. She thought that Lance would bring Oliver in and the Queen family’s reputation would be ruined.

Well, she hadn’t bet on the alliance between Team Arrow and the detective.

Just when the Queen matriarch thought she’d reached the end of her thread, tensing up and nearly every single shred of restraint she had left not to annihilate Leeson breaking, Walter slipped up beside her and slowly inched his arm around her waist, anchoring her to him. With his side pressing into hers, Moira relaxed and breathed out, leaning back onto his chest and turning slightly to offer a weak smile, which Walter countered. One of the Brit’s hands laced with hers, and the tension drained out of her shoulders.

Moira wondered if this was what it was like with Oliver and Felicity. It was painfully obvious to anybody who knew the pair that Felicity unlocked a softer, warmer, more emotional side of the archer. Maybe Walter was her Felicity as Felicity was to her son.

The last few photos were taken. Leeson announced they were finished, and started examining the pictures on her digital camera’s screen. Walter stepped back slightly, shooting his ex-wife a pointed look, which Moira responded to with a grim, silent nod. It was time to confront Leeson, and make her pay for thinking that she could threaten her family.

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Queen, Mr. Steele,” Leeson said absentmindedly as she continued to flick through photos. “I’ll be in contact with your promotional manger shortly.”

“Oh, I don’t think we’ll be leaving yet, Ms. Leeson,” Moira replied darkly, a cold smile growing on her face. “We still have some business to attend to.”

Leeson finally looked up, appearing confused. “What do you mean?”

Walter locked the door. The sound of the lock turning and clicking shut had the photographer shifting warily, eyeing both of them with caution. Moira reached forwards, ignoring Leeson’s startled cry, and firmly took a hold of her camera, taking it away before placing down on the table with a thunk.

“Sit down, Ms. Leeson,” Walter said, striding up behind Moira, so the two of them could stand side by side, presenting a strong, unbeatable, united front. Leeson had the common sense to look afraid. “You will not be leaving this room until Mrs. Queen and I say you can. We need to have a frank discussion. Don’t you think?”

* * *

 

Fear quickly morphed into anger, causing a blotchy red to bloom across Leeson’s porcelain face. Moira had not needed the hour long session to measure and weigh Andrea Leeson; her kind – gifted with nearly perfect and pristine beauty, that masked an ugly soul – were sadly a dime a dozen in the world. Confronting it gave Moira a greater appreciation for the genuine people, too few and far between, who she was still able to call friend. People like Jessica Danforth and Jean Loring, who’d supported and championed her through the worst, and most of all, for the man standing beside her after everything she’d put him through.

She could face the false righteous indignation and denial, and the no longer choked back disdain, with a perceived steady calm because she had Walter at her side. Moira knew giving hint of any emotion other than icy fury would be construed as small triumph on Ms. Leeson’s behalf, and would only bolster the nauseous woman’s bravo. Not for one moment would Moira allow the woman to think she had even the slightest chance of coming out of this confrontation victorious.

“Enough!” she snapped, ending the photographer’s denials. “You’re not nearly as clever as you think you are, dear.” Moira said this almost warmly, as if she felt bad for having to burst the woman’s bubble. “Too much pride in your talent,” she said, running a finger over the lens of the camera she’d handled earlier. “And so sure of your mark that you used what was easily available and traceable.”

Moira took a step closer to the woman, who visibly shrank into herself, but did not concede any ground. She would though, of that Moira was certain. “Really, how difficult do you think it was to put a quality photograph together with City Hall,” Leeson flinched at those words, “envelopes.”

“You can’t prove anything,” Leeson’s tone was whiny and desperate.

“Really? Are you so sure?” Moira baited. “Tell me, Ms. Leeson; were you so confident, so intent on your revenge, that you were careful in every detail? You wore gloves handling the photograph?” No reaction. “How about with the envelope?” The woman’s green eyed gaze did not waiver. “Alter your handwriting somehow?” There, a slight grimace. “Tell me, will we find your DNA on the seal of the envelope?” Eyes went wide, her breath thready as younger woman stumbled backwards.

She turned her head to look at Walter over her shoulder, her eyes burning near violet with satisfied pride. Their scheme was working. “Proof,” she said the word with an edge of vicious delight.

“Indeed,” Walter agreed, adding an extra level of smugness to his crisp voice.  “Though I am sure Ms. Leeson would counter with her own.”

The woman nodded vigorously, not realizing the trap she was walking into, “Not just that picture either. I have loads more. Your precious son won’t be able escape justice.”

It took everything in her not react to that boastful statement. They had a plan, and if she deviated now, it could spiral out control. Still, it was close, and if not for the hand Walter placed on her shoulder, Moira would have thrown their strategy out the window and gleefully ripped the woman apart piece by piece.

“These loads,” Walter took over for her, knowing that she needed a moment to rein herself in, “That you have, include his associates?”

“The driver and EA,” she asked, her spine straightening and a crocodile smile spreading across her face – the poor diluted fool actually thought she had something there.

“His partners,” Walter corrected, bristling at Leeson’s dismissive tenor.

“ _Loads_ ,” she repeated, with self-satisfaction reeking off her.

“I wonder,” Moira said, reentering the fray, “if you recall the also called Count, Ms. Lesson?” Confusion marred the woman’s high brow. “Maker of Vertigo,” she supplied, “he caused quite the ruckus at my trial if you recall.”

“So?”

“The Hood - sorry, it’s the Arrow now – but why go on pretense,” she said breezily, “ _My son_ was content to let him rot in prison. Not a choice I would have made, given the role his drug played in my daughter’s accident, nor the smartest decision considering the havoc he raised after escaping. Still, the man would have ended up back in Iron Heights and not filled with arrows, if not for one rash act. Can you fathom what that was, Ms. Leeson?” Whilst speaking, she and her prey had being playing a game of cat and mouse; Leeson kept retreating and Moira matched her step for step. The woman’s back was against the wall now, literally and figuratively. 

Arms crossed, Moira stood over her as she trembled out, “Nnn-no.”

“He threatened Ms. Smoak’s life.” Moira paused to let that sink in before continuing. “Now, you and your photographs may not be placing her in mortal jeopardy, but you do present a danger to her and Mr. Diggle. We can only hazard to guess how he’ll respond to that.” There was a small part of Moira that hated using her son in this manner, especially after witnessing the change in how he operated his nighttime activities, but a woman like Andrea Leeson only truly cared about one thing: herself.

“We can keep this from Oliver,” Walter said, tagging in as they’d planned to make their offer, “and see you comfortably relocated, or we can allow the Arrow to decide how best to protect his partners. The choice, Ms. Leeson, is entirely yours.”

* * *

 

As soon as that first flicker of fear appeared on Leeson’s face when Moira began threatening her, Walter knew that the woman would be turning over to expose her belly in surrender. Perhaps it was Moira using Oliver’s reputation as the Hood, who would ruthlessly protect his team in any way possible, that turned the tide; within minutes of that, Leeson was giving in, pleading with them that she would hand over the photos and leave the city, if they swore not to inform the Arrow.

It was strange for Walter to think that his step-son was thought of as a lethal, terrifying and threatening force of nature to some residents in Starling. The Brit had known pretty early on that Oliver was the Hood; he’d known about the killings, the mortal arrow wounds and horrifying torture the deadly vigilante was associated with, but he still struggled to connect that with his view of Oliver.

Oliver had been cold and wary of his step-father when first arriving back, with good reason - he undoubtedly had PTSD and major trust issues because of all that he’d experienced. But after the archer had warmed up to Walter, and opened up a little, letting the fake Ollie-persona slide, he’d been compassionate and considerate, kind and helpful. He was the best step-son Walter could possibly ask for.

Coming back to the present, Walter straightened as he realised he’d absentmindedly followed Moira and Leeson to the photographer’s tiny office. Leeson was pulling multiple photos, memory cards and flash drives out of a small safe, completely silent and slightly trembling. Moira took them all, slipping them into a folder, with an impassive impression.

“That’s all of it,” Leeson said quietly.

Moira fixed her with a stern glare. “Everything?”

The other woman nodded her head in a jerk. “I swear.” After a brief pause, she said shakily, “There’s no need for your son to know about this.”

“He won’t need to,” Walter cut in, “if you have given us all the evidence you collected. If we find that you withheld photos from us, and you release them, there won’t be a place on earth that the Arrow won’t be able to find you, and make you suffer.”

Leeson wouldn’t meet either of their eyes, promising in a barely audible, terrified whisper, “I swear on my life, that is everything.”

“Good,” Moira responded coldly. “We will have a removal vehicle and car sent to your apartment in three days. Break off your ties in this city now. Leave the state. Never speak of this again. If you forget what happened entirely, then there will be no need for Oliver to come around and… persuade you to keep silent.”

Walter cut Leeson a $50,000 check, mostly because he felt a little sympathetic for this woman having her whole life taken from her and being forced to start again. Internally, he was glad to see the back of her. With the photos, memory cards and flash drives secured, Moira and Walter took their leave, clambering into their black sedan and having the driver take them back to Moira’s official campaign office, which was only a few blocks down from City Hall.

Moira began leafing through the photos, her lips pressing into a grim line as she stared down at them. Each one was different, but every single picture was clear evidence that Oliver was the Arrow, and Felicity and Mr. Diggle aided him. Sara Lance even appeared in two of them, which Walter decided not to mention to the detective when he next saw him.

“Should we destroy them?” Walter questioned. “And the memory cards?”

Moira shook her head. “No. I’ll keep them in my safe at the office.”

Walter frowned, “Moira—”

Her hand clutching one of the photos tightened around it as she said defensively, a pleading tone leaking through, “Please just let me have this, Walter.”

He understood. Although, only just. They’d never seen Oliver in the Arrow suit with his hood down before; here lay sheer proof that he was in fact the Arrow, as they had believed for months, but never had proper evidence. Moira was being faced with proof that her son was, in fact, a past murderer and illegal vigilante on the run, being hunted by the police. She needed the photos in order to get her mind straightened out, in order to process things. He slipped his hand into hers and squeezed it before releasing, but keeping their fingers entwined.

A text popped through on the Brit’s phone. It was from Lance, a very vague: _It’s done?_

He called the detective back instead. The man picked up immediately. “Everything sorted?” Lance asked shortly. But Walter could hear his worry - his worry that people he had reluctantly began to care about were still in danger.

“Finished,” he responded. “Leeson handed over everything. She’s leaving the city and abandoning whatever vengeance she was set on.”

“And she’s unhurt?”

“Of course. We didn’t need to lay a hand on her. Women like her are only concerned about themselves - a threat to tell Oliver about her threatening the team, or more specifically Felicity, and she jumped ship.”

“Thank god,” Lance sighed.

Moira tapped Walter’s arm. “Ask him if he wants to meet up at Table Salt. We deserve a relaxing meal after everything that’s happened.”

Walter relayed the query, and Lance agreed. The driver dropped the pair of them off briefly at Moira’s office so she could secure the evidence in her personal safe there, before they drove to the SCPD precinct to pick Lance up. Once they arrived at the restaurant, their pleasant small talk quickly turned into chatter about the less legal extracurricular activities of their children.

Lance had just begun the particularly interesting story about when he first met Felicity when Moira’s phone chimed. Walter leaned over so his side was pressing into his ex-wife’s, reading the text as well. Thea was asking her if she could go into her campaign office, as she accidentally left some papers for Verdant there from a few days ago. Moira texted back a vague reply of agreement before they returned to their conversation.

“So yeah, turned out that the woman in skimpy black leather they had all the Glades stationed officers hunting down was my own daughter,” Lance finished, rolling his eyes as he twirled spaghetti carbonara around his fork. “Sucks, right?”

“At least you didn’t unknowingly shoot your own son,” Walter said, turning pointedly to raise an eyebrow at Moira.

To his delight, the Queen matriarch blushed in embarrassment, kicking his foot under the table. Lance started laughing hysterically. Moira shot Walter a playful glare, which he responded to with a wink, which made her cheeks redden even more if possible.

“Oh, stop laughing, Quentin. In my defence, I didn’t know it was Oliver at the time.”

“Our families are crazy,” Lance said, wiping away a tear as his chest still shook in amusement.

Walter chuckled. “But we wouldn’t change it for the world.”

* * *

 

Thea hummed a jaunty tune as she slipped into her mother's campaign office. There were a handful of dedicated volunteers manning the get out the vote call desk under the watchful eye of her campaign manager, David Francis. David was the brother of Kardak Holdings’s CFO Mark Francis, a long term associate of Walter’s, who had been behind the idea of her mother running for mayor in the first place and was one of her campaign’s biggest contributors. It seemed that David never slept, much like her brother. Ollie's visits home had been sporadic of late and Thea doubted that it had anything to do with his sudden relationship with Sara, particularly given his _friend_ Felicity. There was definitely more sexual tension between Ollie and his hastily appointed EA. That had been evident by the moon eyes he’d thrown at her, during the dismally attended party he’d thrown for their mother after her release from prison.

Throwing a wave with a quick word about picking up some paperwork, a fact that would be confirmed if asked about in the morning thanks to the text she'd sent, Thea walked into her mother's private office. She dismissed her brother's love life conundrums for another day - she could only fix one relationship at a time, and right now her eyes were set on Moira Queen and Walter Steele - and worries about what was causing discord between him and their mother, and went about executing her plan. It might surprise the general public that she held no ill will towards Walter for divorcing her mother over the summer, but considering that she had been unwilling to even talk with her and Ollie’s vanishing act, Walter had been all she had.

He had been the one to help her takeover the running of Verdant, after promising him it wasn't about having a personal playground to get mischievous in. She understood the club world and knew not only what people liked, but what they needed: an escape. That is what Verdant was for everyone, herself included, and she loved it. She loved negotiating with vendors, scouting and recruiting amazing new talents, and most of all bossing around her boyfriend. With so much of Starling feeling cold and unrecognizable, Verdant had become of symbol of something else: a phoenix rising from the ashes, a show of persistence and a beacon of hope that it was possible to rebound. Maybe she was putting a too grandiose mantle on _her_ little club, but Tuesdays through Saturdays since she had reopened Verdant had been packed. Obviously it meant or offered the city something it needed.

Bypassing her mother’s desk, Thea went straight for her safe and hunched before it. She spun the locking mechanisms confidently. Up until her brother’s miraculous return, the default combination her mother used had been some variation of her father’s birth date; now it was 10-20-12. As the safe opened with a gentle whoosh, Thea thrust her hand into her vintage purse to pull out the jewelry box it contained.

Six years ago, when her mother had been confined to bed and barely aware of when she’d been in the room with her, it had been Walter who had comforted her and in doing so came up with an idea to engage both her and her mother. They’d spent nearly a month designing and setting up a scavenger hunt. Yes. A scavenger hunt. With priceless jewelry. One meant to force her mother out into the world again and hopefully help to bring her out of her grief. It sounded insane, but at the time, it had seemed to work.

Thea knew now that it wasn’t really the scavenger hunt as she believed then that had helped her mother, Walter more than anything else had been what pulled Moira out of her state of shocked anguish. Still, that did not mean that she couldn’t take what she’d learned and apply it to the ridiculous state of her parents’ relationship. Really, the only people they were fooling were themselves. Because for a divorced couple, they were spending a lot of personal, non-campaign time together and being overly supportive in all aspects of the others life.

Thea had seen her mother carefully apply her makeup and Walter’s favorite perfume before meeting him. She’d noticed her quasi-father nervously adjusting his tie before entering a room where her mother was waiting for him. On top of that, there was the leaning in close to each other, the hand holding, the way Walter would reach to brush back some of her mother’s hair, only to stop and awkwardly pause before dropping his hand back to his side. It was beyond obvious that they were still in love with each other. Whilst she could not fault past events for splitting them up, Thea did not think they were a good enough reason to keep them apart. And her little hunt was the perfect scheme to steer them back to each other.

Consumed with her own machinations, she was unable to react in time to stop a stuffed file folder from tumbling out of the safe. It hit the ground with heavy thud and pictures, memory cards and flash drives spilled out across the terrazzo tile floor. Taking in the contents of the pictures with her widening green eyes, Thea gasped as she struggled to understand what she was seeing.

Ollie, in green leather, a hood down around his shoulders, with a bow in his right hand.

Thea dropped the velvet box she’d been planning to tuck away in the back of safe, as her hands went to the pictures. She spread them out, taking in each new image of her big brother as the … her mind recoiled at the possibility. Ollie couldn’t be the vigilante. Could he?

Her brow furled as she took in more images of brother in costume. In some of them, he was with Mr. Diggle and Felicity, and even … _Sara_? Thea didn’t realize she was panting or that she’d seized one of the photos, crinkling it in her fierce grip. It was picture of just Ollie, his face visible as he lowered his hood.

The Vigilante. The Hood. The Arrow. The same man known by many names. _Her brother_.

A killer, she thought, tears stinging her eyes. The crazed man she loathed for putting an arrow in Roy.

But he had saved Roy before that, she reminded herself. The Hood had eventually started bringing down corrupt individuals and criminals in a non-lethal manner. Thea had heard the endless debates about him: menace or hero? If the pictures had exposed anyone else under the hood, would she have even considered picking the side of hero? Thea wasn’t sure, but suddenly the distance between their mother and Ollie made sense. _She knew_. She was protecting him.

And she was lying to her. They were both lying to her.

Angry tears seeped out of her eyes. Thea shoved the picture she'd mangled into her purse, before she started pushing the contents of the folder back into its manila folds and heaving it all back into the safe. She slammed the steel door shut and furiously twisted its lock, before racing out of the office without a word of goodbye, so no one would notice her swiping her tears aside.

The jewelry box which had popped open upon hitting the tiled ground lay forgotten, a dazzling pearl bracelet spilling out from it.

* * *


	2. Story of Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An actual plot develops - and a few secrets comes out - otherwise known as Lexi and I surprise ourselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bushlaboo: We have plot and plans, oh yes we do! ;)
> 
> Lexi: SPIRALLING. WE ARE SPIRALLING. AND YET, YOU ARE ALL SPIRALLING WITH US.

* * *

Quentin usually hated the Queens. He had every right to. They were one of the richest, most stuck-up families in Starling City, often flaunting their wealth at charity galas by providing fat checks and half funding most of the emergency services within the city - including SCPD. And that meant that the Queen family had influence - which wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

Oliver Queen had been a thorn in Quentin’s side since he had first met Laurel and Sara, teaching his youngest daughter how to do the monkey bars and then comforting her when she fell and cried. He’d grown into a pretentious, idiotic little twat that gained a reputation for using and hurting woman, and acting like he was above the law. Whenever the drunk kid was taken into custody for drink driving or sometimes, for even worse things, the charges went away - due to Moira and Robert’s money providing a route to freedom.

Then when Oliver had been shipwrecked, Thea had taken over the pretentious behaviour. That said, she was only acting that way out of fear, heartbreak and loneliness, and Quentin had done a lot of stupid things due to that as well, so he couldn’t judge.

During those five years of Oliver being missing, Quentin’s view of Moira had transformed from protective, warm mother into cold, heartless bitch. Walter had been seen as a quick replacement husband, simple arm candy for her, married because of his position within the family business.

Quentin could now happily say that he considered Oliver an ally, Thea a sort of surrogate daughter and Moira and Walter his friends. Spending time at Table Salt with the Queen matriarch and the Brit had resulted in probably one of the most enjoyable meals and evenings the detective had had in quite a while.

Which was why, when Moira invited him over to her campaign office, Quentin agreed. The three of them had quietly discussed over their desserts how much evidence Leeson had gathered, and Quentin had curiously asked if he could take a look at the pictures - although that was mostly because he was concerned that Sara would be photographed and therefore incriminated along with Oliver, Mr. Diggle and Miss Smoak. He pretended not to notice the worried exchange of glances between Moira and Walter as they finished up and paid for the meal.

They had just clambered back into the sedan, Walter and Moira brushing sides and hands touching as they slid in beside each other, when Quentin gathered his courage and questioned quietly, so the driver couldn’t hear, “Sara was in some of the photos, wasn’t she?”

There was a silent beat, and then Moira sighed in defeat. “Yes, she was.”

“We didn’t want to worry you,” Walter explained apologetically.

“It’s fine,” he responded, gazing out the window. He wasn’t angry, as such. More like disappointed. And anxious. “Kinda knew it was highly likely she would be in some of the photos, considering the amount of time she spends with the team and working with the Arrow.” He chuckled darkly. “A miracle that Leeson wasn’t able to get any photos of _me_ with him, to be honest. Oliver’s been helping out with more than a few cases that Hilton and I have been struggling on.”

The rest of the drive was spent in a comfortable silence, looking out the window, but Quentin couldn’t help his eyes wandering over to settle on the ‘couple’ in front of him. Moira and Walter were holding hands. They didn’t even seem to notice they were doing it. They turned to smile softly at each other every so often; it was almost as if they could sense each others emotions. It was admirable - Quentin didn’t think he’d ever reached that level of connection and understanding with Dinah when they had been married… and Moira and Walter weren’t even married anymore.

They reached Moira’s office and were greeted pleasantly by David Francis, who asked if he could talk to Walter for a minute about some financial issues that had popped up, nothing too pressing or worrying, he assured. Just something he’d like to smooth out. He shot Moira a look, one that she must have understood, because she motioned her head for Quentin to follow her through to her office.

As soon as they stepped inside, Moira stopped dead. Quentin’s hand immediately went to his belt, settling on his handgun, as he caught sight of the Queen matriarch’s face. There wasn’t a way he could properly describe her expression - it was a mixture of confusion, horror and fright all at once. Gently shouldering past her into the room, he knelt down to pick up the open jewellery box, which had a beautiful pearl bracelet inside of it.

He raised his gaze to meet Moira’s shocked eyes, questioning, “This yours?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Was this here when you came earlier?”

She shook her head again. “No.”

The protective streak in Quentin flared. “Who’s had access to your office?”

“Just the usual people,” Moira answered shakily. “David, a few members of the campaign staff, Oliver and -” She cut off, hand flying to her mouth. “ _Thea_. She - she asked if she could come here to pick up some paperwork for the club whilst we were at dinner.”

And Thea Queen did not seem like the type of girl to drop and leave a priceless piece of pearl jewellery on the floor.

Moira’s eyes suddenly widened in undisguised panic as she gasped, “ _No_ ,” and staggered hurriedly towards the personal safe next to her desk, opening it up with trembling fingers and snatching the contents out of it. Photos spilled out of the folder she grabbed and tipped over onto her desk. Frantically, she began counting them. A few of them caught the detective’s eye - one with Oliver in his leathers, smiling softly down at Felicity, his arm on her elbow, another one with Sara talking to Oliver whilst they swapped weapons.

The unexpected, choking sound Moira made startled Quentin out of his musings. “One of the photos is missing,” she said. “There were eighteen - there’s only seventeen in here.”

“You think it was Thea?” Quentin asked carefully.

“Only three people know the code to this safe - me, Walter and Thea,” Moira bit her lip. “It was Thea.”

“Shit,” Quentin muttered.

So Thea had seen the photos, and taken one of them. She now knew that her big brother was the infamous green archer protecting the city - but how she would react, was the biggest question. His mind had immediately gone to the Arrow’s legacy when he had first discovered the identity of the vigilante: the kill count and all the dead and tortured people he had left behind in the dirt, innocent people he had accidentally dragged into conflicts and fights; would Thea’s mind have done the same?

Walter appeared in the doorway, but seeing his ex-wife practically shaking, he rushed forwards to her, taking hold of her elbows and turning her towards him. As the Brit tried to calm Moira, brushing his hands up and down her forearms soothingly, Quentin explained quickly what they had discovered.

“David told me that he saw Thea rushing out of here only twenty minutes ago,” Walter informed them gravely. “He said she looked upset - and angry.”

“She just discovered her brother is the Arrow,” Moira shook her head, her eyes squeezed closed. “She has the right to be. Oh god, I knew I shouldn’t have left the photos in my safe. I was being sentimental and stupid.”

“It’s done now,” Walter sighed, rubbing the small of her back with his thumb. “There’s nothing we can do to change this, dear. Our daughter knows.”

Quentin hated having to interrupt their little comforting, bonding moment, but they needed to cut to the chase. “Where would she have gone?”

“To confront Oliver, I presume,” Walter answered, looking stricken. “This would have not gone down well with her, at all. After everything that happened with the Undertaking, she hates liars.”

“And Oliver told her the biggest lie that there is,” Moira finished softly.

Quentin ran a hand through his hair, trying to think. They needed a logical plan, fast. If they were underestimating how furious Thea was, there could be awful consequences - like Team Arrow in handcuffs, for example. The detective didn’t think that Thea would leak the photos and throw her brother to the dogs like that, but who knew. Anger made people do inexplicable things.

“We need to intercept her. Talk to her, try to explain,” he reasoned. “Do you two think you could calm her down, bring her around?”

Moira looked completely helpless. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “After everything that’s happened… she was already teetering on the edge, this might have broken her.”

“She’ll want answers,” Walter added. “She’ll want the truth. No matter what we say or do, Thea won’t stop until she gets that.”

That was not reassuring; Quentin grimaced. “Where would Oliver be at this time in the evening? Or more importantly, where would Thea think he would be?”

“At the club,” Moira and Walter replied in sync. Moira added, “He set up Verdant to use as an alibi for his nights out as the Arrow, and a cover for his secret lair underneath.” She paused. “Well, that’s where we suspect it is.”

Okay, that was _definitely_ new to Quentin, but he pushed it aside; it could be addressed later. The current matter at hand was handling this situation. “Then let’s head to Verdant.”

“Thea left earlier, she’ll get there before us.”

“How well does she know the streets around the Glades?” Quentin raised an eyebrow, a smirk spreading across his face. He led the two of them out of the office as soon as Moira gathered the photos and put them back in the folder, this time deciding to take it with her in her purse rather than leave it behind. “Not as well as I do, I reckon. Using the main streets to get there, it’ll take Thea - what, twenty minutes? Maybe longer with traffic.”

“And you can get us there faster?” the Brit questioned, as they strode out into the fresh air. The night was darkening, leaving the faint tangerine and pink of dusk behind, transforming the sky into a pale nightingale blue.

“I can get us there in ten.”

* * *

 

The frantic ride to Verdant passed in a tense silence. As the automobile came to a screeching halt outside of the club, startling the line of patrons awaiting entry, Walter was already opening the door so that they could swiftly exit the vehicle.

“Thank you for getting us here so quickly, Quentin,” Moira said, shooting out of the dark sedan. She paused briefly to look at him over her shoulder, “We’ll take it from here.”

Walter stood silently as the man objected to being left out of the discussion. He was not certain if having him there would be of benefit or not. If Thea could see that Quentin Lance, her brother’s biggest detractor, was supporting the Arrow, then perhaps they could talk her down. Of course, that depended on what was fuelling his beloved daughter’s actions: her anger or her hurt.  

“Plausible deniability,” Moira stated, with a bite of finality in her stressed tone. “You need it and Oliver needs you on the force.”

“It would just be another lie,” the officer sighed, his shoulders sagging as he struggled to maintain his fight.

“I know,” Moira replied sadly, “But some omissions are needed. If it is necessary, we'll tell her and you can confirm, but until we gauge where her mind is at we have to protect the team, and _your_ Sara.” It was low blow, but Walter had begrudgingly accepted that his ex was willing to play dirty, particularly when the well-being of her children was at stake. The disgruntled look that passed over the policeman's face conveyed his displeasure of having that used against him. Instead of expressing his irritation, Quentin nodded mutely before storming away.

“Moira—” he began, reaching out to take her arm.

“An argument for another time, Walter,” she cut him off. The easy camaraderie of the evening had washed away, leaving a taunt worried frown marring Moira’s brow. “We need to get to Thea, before she finds Oliver.” She stepped away from him and towards the club, walking regally past the queue seeking entrance. The guard at the door stepped aside to let her into to Verdant without a word. Walter took a settling breath before hurrying to follow her.  

The music inside the club was loud and pulsing; the dark atmosphere was speared with neon strobing lights, as a mass of bodies moved in a gyrating wave on the dance floor and the bartenders put on a choreographed show behind the large stylized bar. Scanning the crowd for his favorite brunette, Walter felt like he was chasing a needle in a haystack.

Thea’s voice, sharp with rage, demanding, “What are you doing here?” had both of them spinning. Quentin’s knowledge of Starling’s streets had apparently been very effective, seeing as they arrived at Verdant before Thea had. Her slight frame was quaking with emotion as she stormed right up into Moira’s personal space and growled out, “Leave my club. _Immediately_.”

“Darling,” Moira exhaled, her face crumbling under the daughter’s shimmering rage, but Thea ignored her mother, striding past her – intentionally knocking her shoulder against her mother’s, bodily moving Moira out of her path as she charged towards the private set of stairs that led to the club’s office. Moira straightened her shoulders, fixing the misalignment of her designer jacket the collision had caused. “That could have gone better.”

Walter stepped towards her and took Moira’s hand, squeezing it supportively. “We’ll get through to her,” he promised. How they would achieve that was a mystery. Thea was justifiably disappointed in and infuriated with them, but when push came to shove, family stuck together. Ultimately, Walter trusted that Thea would decide to do what was in the best interest of her brother. No matter how upset she was with him at the moment, she would never want Oliver to spend the rest of his life behind bars. A surety if she announced his nighttime activities to the world.

Watery blue eyes gazed up at him. “I pray you’re right,” she whispered breathlessly, squeezing his hand in return before slipping hers out from his. Fingering her necklace, Moira turned to follow in Thea’s footsteps. Walter kept pace behind her. He wanted to reach out, to keep some physical contact between them, but he could tell by the ridged way Moira was holding herself that his touch would not be welcomed. She was too close to shattering, facing the possibility that she may have to put the welfare of one of her children over the other. His presence at her side and unwavering support would have to be enough to see her through what would undoubtedly be a bitter exchange between mother and daughter.

Thea’s back was to them as they stepped into her office, but as the sounds of a thriving club filled the room, alerting her to their entrance, she huffed, “I thought I told you to leave.”

“You know I can’t,” Moira stated sternly, as he shut the door. The office went eerily silent. The soundproofing job had been excellently done; through the glass wall Thea was blindly staring through, the club thrummed, but none of the jovial ambience below pierced the chilly atmosphere of the office.

“How long?”

The barely audible question surprised Moira. “What?”

“How long have you known what he is?” Thea seethed, spinning on her heel to face them. Out of the shadowed lighting of the club, Walter could see how red and puffy her eyes were from crying. Trailing mascara stained her pale cheeks. Thea had always been a waif, but the fairy princess element of her classic bone structure looked ghostly under the weight of her emotional turmoil.

“ _Thea_. Your brother isn’t—”

“The Hood,” she cut Moira off viciously, “Or the Arrow or whatever the costumed freak running around the city is calling himself these days.” She was vibrating with a myriad of emotions, Walter could see them storming through her, unable to settle on just one feeling. “Try to sell me that lie, Mom, and we are **done**.”

“Fine,” Moira replied, moving further into the room. She took a few steps before Thea jolted back. The move caused Moira to flinch and stop her approach.  “Your brother,” she repeated the familial connection, reminding Thea of the role Oliver played in her life, “Is not a freak.”

“Just a murderer, right?” Thea retorted, with an acerbic laugh.

“A survivor,” Moira corrected her, her tone warning. “Or can you so easily dismiss the five years he spent in hell on that island?”

Thea shuddered and shame flickered across her face. It was fleeting though, her mouth pursed and her eyes flared again, as she challenged back, “No. I just refuse to accept it as a justification for all the horrible things he’s done and the lies he told.” She titled her head as she crossed her arms, “Though I know you’re willing to justify a lot.”

Moira sucked in a breath, Thea’s cutting tone and hurtful words, having hit their mark. Walter knew if didn’t intervene the two women he cared about most would exchange words neither would be able to take back. They may forgive each other in the future, but they would never forgive themselves. “That is enough, young lady,” he ordered, stepping between mother and daughter.

“No, it’s not,” she mouthed back.

“You may think your mother's misdeeds allow you to treat her with disrespect, but that could not be further from the truth.” Thea’s eyes went wide at his authoritative tone. It was one she’d heard him use occasionally at Queen Consolidated, but never with her. “Now, I know you're disappointed and you have every right to be, but if you want to be treated as an adult, I need you behave like one for this conversation.”

Thea's scowl deepened. “Most of the adults I know have a track record of lying. I’d rather be honest.”

Walter sighed; he could not fault the girl's wariness. “You have my word, Thea, there will be no dishonesty in this conversation. From either of us.”

“Prove it,” Thea challenged cutting the distance between them in half. “How long have you known?” she demanded.

“With certainty—”

Her eyes flashed as she interrupted him, “Don't equivocate, Walter.”

“I'm not,” he snapped, surprising Thea by losing his patience. She fidgeted for a moment, once again looking like the lost little girl who’d wrapped him around her finger after the Gambit went down. It made his heart ache, so Walter softened his tone when he continued. “I had my suspicions after the Hood rescued me, which were strengthened after Oliver returned this fall and rescued you.”

Thea had the grace to look properly chided. “Supposition isn't _truth_ and we didn't have that until three days ago when a woman threatened to expose your brother. Those pictures you found were meant to see Oliver and his team incarcerated for their efforts to help this city.”

“Murder is helping?” Thea queried with contempt.

“ _Thea_ ,” Moira interjected, clearly fed up with the young woman’s continued characterization of her brother as a killer.

“Oliver's tactics have been excessive,” Walter conceded, stopping the quarrel between mother and daughter before it could begin, “And I won't say the quality of human beings he’s dispatched are an acceptable excuse. I will, however, argue that Oliver spent five years having to deal with extremes. You've seen his scars, Thea,” he reminded her of the brutal visuals of only a portion of the suffering Oliver had endured. That reminder had Thea dropping her eyes from him as she hugged herself. “Oliver did not inflict them upon himself. To survive, it was kill or be killed.” He paused to let that cruel truth sink in. “That he needed time to break out of that mentality is understandable, but his previous tactics do not negate the good he's done.”

For a minute there was just the sound of them all breathing; the bald truth he’d shared made the air in the room feel heavy. He watched Thea take a deep, shuddering breath, but instead of seeing understanding in her eyes when her gaze lifted to his again, there was an unwavering defiance to acknowledge his honest assessment. “The lives he’s saved do not make up for the ones he’s taken.”

It saddened Walter that Thea would think her brother would weigh human life in such a manner. “I believe Oliver would be the first to agree with you, Thea,” he said, his disappointment evident. “He carries the weight of all he's done, you simply have to look at him -- _really_ look at him -- to know that.”

Shame once again clouded Thea’s face. “That doesn't make up for the lying,” she sniffled. “I begged Ollie to open up to me. To be truthful and he hasn't." Her voice broke with that admission. “ _He lied_.” Tears began seeping out of her eyes with those words and Thea flicked them aside furiously. “If I hadn't found the pictures, you guys would have lied to me for him, like you've,” her damp gaze focused in on Moira, “been lying about why he's been absent from home and your campaign events of late.”

With a hard glared she asked, “So mom, are you going to tell me the truth about that?”

* * *

 

Walter turned to Moira with a grimace. They had promised Thea to be honest, and the proper answer to this question was going to be a very hard truth to digest. His ex-wife had told him when they had gone out to dinner together that Oliver was actively avoiding her, not going home to the mansion or any of the meetings he was meant to attend for her campaign, due to the fact that Felicity had revealed to him that Thea was Malcolm Merlyn’s daughter. Walter understood his reaction, to be fair - he’d already lost his best friend due to the Undertaking, having to deal with his mother’s lies then. Now he was being forced to lie to Thea about her parentage, an added lie on top of his secret identity.

But Moira seemed to think that was too much. She swallowed and lied, “Well, with everything that your brother has been doing lately as the Arrow, the people he’s been saving and the criminals he’s been catching, it’s understandable that he hasn’t been able to spend time -”

“Moira,” Walter cut in sharply. The Queen matriarch’s eyes flashed to him, and the look she fixed on the Brit was nothing but pleading. A beg for him not to force her to tell her daughter the truth about her biological father. “We promised Thea the truth,” he finished quietly. “I know this will change everything, but we have to be honest with her. We cannot lie to her any longer - and yes, that means we can’t withhold certain truths from her, even if we do think it’s for the greater good.”

Thea’s narrowed eyes flickered between the two of her parents. The fear and hurt and anger that had molded her expression before had vanished, only to be replaced with hesitance and uncertainty. “What are you talking about?” she questioned warily.

He sighed, leaning back onto the wall as he said cautiously, “Oliver hasn’t been around, Thea, because he’s been avoiding your mother. In actual fact, I think you could say that he attempted to disown her.”

Thea looked shocked, but even more confused. “Because… Mom found out he was the Arrow?”

“No,” Walter shook his head.

Moira cut in warningly, “Walter…”

“We have to tell her,” the Brit insisted.

“Tell me what!?” Thea practically shouted, tears in her eyes once again as her head snapped back and forth between the two adults.

Moira bit her lip. She looked like she was about to cry. If there were any other circumstances, Walter would have gone to her, wrapped her up in his strong embrace and held her. But he knew that comfort was not going to work. Ever since the Gambit had been bombed and sank to the bottom of the ocean, Moira Queen had lived in lies, perfecting deceit and misdirection - but if she wanted to save her family, she needed to start telling the truth. Thea was right - she needed honestly, otherwise all trust would be lost.

“Thea, you have to listen to me,” Moira whispered shakily, wringing her hands as she slowly approached her daughter. “You have to listen to what I’m saying, you have to really think about this. About what I’m about to tell you.” Inhaling a shuddering breath, Moira finally managed to choke out, voice weighted with emotion, “Oliver has been avoiding me because he found out the truth about something that I’ve kept from both of you, from the entire world… about you. Thea, Robert Queen was not your biological father. Malcolm Merlyn was.”

Thea looked as if she had just been stabbed in the stomach. As if she had just been told that the world was ending. Walter tried to move forwards to catch her under her arms as the girl very suddenly crumpled, her knees giving way as tears began freely rolling down her cheeks, but as Thea hit the floor, she flinched violently away from his touch as she choked out a low, pained moan of, “ _No…”_

“I’m so sorry,” Moira cried, falling to her knees as well. “I was weak, Thea, I was lonely, I wanted, _craved_ the attention. Robert spent more time buying lavish presents for his mistresses than with me, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed somebody to show me that I could be cared about, and Malcolm - he was such a good friend, a gentleman, so charming and suave and it was _once,_ Thea. Please believe me. It was _once…_ and never have I loved you any less than Oliver. You are a Queen, you are my daughter and you are _loved.”_

Thea made a broken sound, sobs breaking free from her chest. She was practically vibrating from her contained anger, but she was so upset, so stunned, she couldn’t channel it outwards, so instead, she was shutting down. Walter’s heart seized agonisingly as his stepdaughter leaned towards him, searching for support, and he swiftly wrapped himself around her, hugging her tightly as he whispered words of, _"It’s okay. It's alright. I’m here. You’re okay. I’m right here."_

“Did -” Thea whimpered. “Did Dad - did Robert… know?”

“Yes,” Moira whispered. “But that didn’t mean he loved you any less. You were _his_ daughter, Thea. Even if you weren’t biologically. He loved you. Of course he did.”

“Why didn’t you _tell me?”_ she moaned, sobbing into Walter’s jacket as she gripped onto his arms. It was almost as if her holding onto the Brit was the only thing keeping her from completely falling apart.

Moira shook her head helplessly, whispering, “I should have. I was so afraid, I just couldn’t risk Malcolm finding out - if he’d known, if he’d ever discovered that you were his… he already had so much influence over our family. He’d already threatened us before. If he’d found out that you were his, he would have tried to take you away from me and I _can’t lose you,_ Thea.”

The tears kept on flowing even as Thea gave a dark, strangled laugh. “So it turns out that both my dad _and_ my brother were murderers.”

Shaking her head, Moira tried to come forward, but as soon as she attempted to lay her hand on her daughter’s arm, Thea scrambled out of Walter’s embrace and away from them both, her chest heaving with sobs, make-up a complete mess as she trembled, stumbling towards the exit and flinging open the door -

Only to crash straight into her older brother, who’d been about to knock on the office door. Immediately, as if by instinct, Oliver’s arms came up to cradle Thea against his chest, and the alarm on his face sent another wave of intense guilt through Walter as the Brit stood, helping Moira up beside him. Thea remained within Oliver’s embrace for a few brief seconds before ripping herself from him, flinching and backing away until she hit the wall and sank down there, head in her hands.

“Thea?” Oliver questioned, his voice tinged with panic. His frantic eyes met Walter’s, ignoring his mother’s teary gaze as he asked desperately, “What happened?”

“She knows, Oliver,” Walter replied softly.

Oliver’s blue eyes darted over to Moira, settling on his mother for a moment before realisation and fury sparked within them. Instantly, his back straightened and shoulders tensed - within seconds, he’d gone from worried, panicked older brother to hardened, protective warrior. “You told her about Merlyn?” he hissed. When Moira just closed her eyes in response, something seemed to break in the archer as he startled towards his sister slowly, crouching in front of her cautiously. “Oh, Thea… I’m so sorry.”

“You knew,” she whispered.

He shook his head gently. “I haven’t known for long. Felicity was doing some research into past QC files for me, she found out and told me… I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you about it.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the running theme of today, isn’t it?” Thea laughed bitterly.

Oliver started, his body jolting as he stood up straight, taking a step back slightly. “What do you mean?”

It was time. They couldn’t keep him in the dark any longer. It wouldn’t be fair for them to keep the knowledge that they knew that Oliver was the Arrow from him, when it was such a massive secret that had been revealed to the rest of their family. “We know, Oliver,” Walter sighed.

“Know…?” Oliver trailed off, dread and horror appearing on his face.

By some miracle, Thea seemed to be able to compose herself slightly, using the wall to heave herself up, sniffling and not meeting any of their eyes as she grabbed her purse from the desk, opening it and ruffling through the contents… only to yank out the missing photo of Oliver, clearly dressed in the Arrow’s green leathers with his hood down. Slamming it down onto the counter in front of her big brother, Thea finally raised her gaze so that her own green eyes could clash with Oliver’s blue ones. Oliver stared at her, agitated, before he glanced down at the photo. And taking hold of it with quivering fingers, his expression transformed into one of utter and complete horror as he swayed in place, losing his balance and having to use the desk to hold himself up as his breathing faltered and muscles trembled.

“We _know_ ,” Thea whispered.

Oliver didn’t seem to know what to say. Walter felt pity creeping through his mind; of course the younger man would be gobsmacked. He’d just been faced with the realisation that not just Thea, but also his mother and Walter knew that he was the Arrow, the infamous green archer protecting Starling City. The realisation that his family knew that he was a killer and a torturer, mentally scarred and broken.

He managed to get out a cracked, “How -?” before his expression crumbled and he couldn’t get any more words out.

“It’s a long story,” Moira offered quietly. “Not one for now.”

“I’m not -” _the Arrow,_ was most likely what Oliver was going to finish that statement with, but his protest died half way through. He wouldn’t be able to deny this. They had photographic proof. Nothing he would say would persuade them that he wasn’t the archer. A tremor ran through him once again, as if he was fighting the instinct to bolt and run.

“You’re the Arrow,” Walter completed for him. “Oliver Queen is the Arrow - and has been since he returned from Lian Yu almost two years ago.”

“I’m sorry, Oliver,” Moira sighed apologetically. “We know.”

* * *

 

Oliver’s eyes bounced around the room, unable to settle on anything or really see what was before him. His mind screamed out, rejecting his mother’s words. _We know_. His breathing increased, as did his heart rate. They couldn’t know, he thought desperately. His family was never supposed to see the darkness that polluted him. It wasn’t meant to touch them, to corrupt them.

He was stained and foolishly m, he had allowed himself to believe that the violence that surrounded him would not infect his family. He had been hell bent on keeping them safe and pristine, but his past kept rearing its ugly head and now … his mother and sister _knew_ the ruthless monster he’d been forged into. He’d been laid bare and once again he had failed.

Oliver thought he had experienced his ultimate failure standing over Tommy’s lifeless body, half of the Glades in ruin – a horrifying echo of how his time in Hong Kong ended – but this, letting down his family. It hit Oliver harder than anything ever had. There were sounds … voices? He wasn’t certain; he couldn’t make them out as his hard won abilities deserted him. His father had given him two directives, but what was the point of surviving if he’d kept falling short of saving his city and disappointed his family in the process.

A cool hand touching his face startled Oliver out of his panicked, spiraling thoughts. If he hadn’t recognized the familiar gentle touch of his mother, his reaction would have been something worse than a violent jerk back. His hyper-vigilance ratcheted back up then, Oliver began registering the sights and sounds around him and they overloaded his senses. The door had been left slightly ajar and the heavy beat of club music flooded the usually quiet office space. His mother’s hand was falling back to her side and she watched him with sad, anxious eyes. Walter was by her side, a hand on the small of her back and his gaze one of supportive concern. Thea leaned rigidly against the desk, where proof of his alternative identity laid mangled, watching them all wearily.

It was overwhelming. Oliver felt the world closing in on him. He needed distance, to not be here facing the impossible. He took another step back, separating himself physically as he started to shutdown down emotionally.

“You saved me,” Thea’s voice rang out a moment later, forcing Oliver to focus on his baby sister. He tilted his head, his brows drawing together as he struggled to comprehend her words. Thea pushed herself away from the desk. “You saved Roy,” she said with appreciation, but her green eyes fired with irritation as she continued, “And then shot him with an arrow.”

“What?” Moira gasped, shifting her stance to look at her youngest child.

Thea snorted and with a hostile smile offered, “You’re not the only one with secrets, Mom.”

A tremor tore through their mother and Walter’s arm slipped along her back to settle on her hips, as he drew her fully into his side. Oliver watched as she burrowed into him, the two of them still appearing to be solid unit despite everything that had happened. “Thea,” Walter chastised.

His sister rolled her eyes and shrugged a dismissive shoulder as she turned her attention back to him. “You rescued Walter and stopped that mad bomber and …” Thea took a shaky breath. “Ollie, you’ve done so much good. And I want to hate,” her voice cracked on that word, “you. I really do because you _lied_ about so much and …” she trailed off. She didn’t have to say it. Oliver could see it written all over her face, her love for him warring with her abhorrence his brutal actions.

“ _God_ ,” she groaned, “I can’t even stay mad at you. Not when you look at me like that,” Thea complained waving a hand at him. “And I _am_ mad at you, Ollie, and I am going to be for a while but—to hell with it,” she grumbled and raced towards him.

He braced himself for the collision, his every muscle tensing as Thea settled against his chest and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tight. She nuzzled into him, rubbing her cheek against him and his walls crumbled. They never stood a chance when it came to his little sister. He wound his arms around her small frame and dropped his chin to the top of her head, his anxiety dispersing with the knowledge that he wasn’t losing her as their breathing fell into alignment.

Oliver took a moment to let his heart settle. He actually felt a little piece of soul heal whilst devoured by Thea's arms. Exhaling a cleansing breath, he lifted moist eyes to regard at his mother. She stood curled against Walter, watching her children’s embrace with such love and relief. “My beautiful boy,” she mouthed silently, as to not break the moment.

He had been so angry with his mother. For her lies and for the ones he felt she’d foisted upon him to keep. It had been hypocritical. He knew that and Oliver was self-aware enough to understand that his continued ire at his mother was fueled by his rage at himself. In childhood, she'd been goodness personified to him and in his wild youth, the person he could always turn to in need and not feel judged or like a great disappointment.

The image of who he believed Moira Queen to be had shattered when he found out about her involvement with the Undertaking, but in the end she'd chosen to do the right thing. She proved she was still who he believed her to be, who he needed her to be. The revelation about Malcolm stole all that away from him again and that had been at the heart of what truly upset him.

It was why he’d turned away from her. But here she was, standing before him, knowing him – seeing him – _all of him_. Despite everything she accepted him. They all did.

It was befuddling and humbling. Oliver had never been great at expressing his emotions, and his time away only exacerbated this flaw, but even if it hadn’t, he didn’t think there was a way to properly express what he was feeling. The closet sentiment was a simplified one, but nonetheless true, he finally felt like he was home.

Suddenly, Oliver knew what he had to do. He rubbed Thea's back, easing some distance between them so he could look down at her. “Do you want to see it?”

“It?” she replied, confusion apparent on her elfin face.

“The Arrow's base of operations,” he clarified. His two worlds had crashed together; perhaps they were always intended to, because there was no other way for him to achieve balance between the two sides of himself: Oliver Queen and the Arrow. Both were equally a part of him and if he was able to bring his family into his other life, then perhaps he'd feel less fractured.

Thea scrunched her nose. “Did you really just refer to yourself in the third person?”

Oliver huffed out a quiet laugh. “Apparently it's a problem of mine.”

The siblings grinned at each other, fully and openly. “Yes!” she exclaimed, bouncing on her heels. “How far away is it?”

“Not far,” he assured her. “Mom, Walter?” he asked, with a nod of his head.

“You're certain?” Walter queried. Oliver appreciated the depth of understating his former stepfather offered him with that question. It was a big, impulsive step and those had not worked out so well for him recently. His one nightstand with Isabel still left a bad taste in his mouth and already his brief attempt at a relationship with Sara was faltering; worse off, both decisions had hurt Felicity. This choice, however, would bridge gaps, not widen them.

At the end of this night, he wouldn't face Felicity’s saddened blue eyes, but pleased ones. “I am,” he assured them, before leading the way through Verdant, to the hidden away, locked basement door.

“In my club?” Thea hissed, with a mixture of aggravation and wonder.

“It was mine first,” he reminded her, as he pushed open the door. They clamored down the steps, and though Oliver was sure the noise they made indicted that they had guests, he called out a word of warning to his team anyhow.

When he got to the bottom of the stairs, his eyes immediately sought out Felicity. She was at her computers and she had turned her chair to gaze open-mouthed at the people accompanying him. The sounds of training ended and a sweating Diggle, Sara, and Roy emerged from behind a set of pillars.

“ ** _ROY_**!” Thea screeched, upon seeing her boyfriend.

“Oh shit,” his apprentice groaned, as his eyes bugged out.

* * *

 

“ROY WILLIAM HARPER JUNIOR.”

Diggle looked completely confused at what was occurring in front of him, his eyes flying from Thea, to Moira and Walter within seconds before he turned back to Oliver, who grimaced at him. “What’s happening?”

Oliver was about to reply when Thea growled lowly in her throat. He couldn’t hold in his laughter as his little sister tried to barrel forwards to tackle Roy to the ground, almost knocking over their mother and stepfather in the process. Just in time, the archer was able to dart forwards and wrap his arms around her waist, holding her back as she began yelling obscenities and cuss words at her boyfriend furiously.

Walter, raising his voice quite loudly, somehow managed to get in his amused comment of, “Well that’s very mature.”

“You can let go of her, Oliver, I can take it,” Roy offered, squaring his shoulders.

It wasn’t that Oliver doubted Roy could take it, but rather that he might accidentally hurt Thea. The Mirakuru was still surging through his blood; they were helping Roy get his anger and abilities under control, but occasionally, his fury would result in him reacting violently. His intense strength would emerge and Oliver’s apprentice would crush anything and everything in his path. This usually occurred when he was stressed out, enraged, or surprised - and having your girlfriend throw herself at you in a fit of frustration and anger, would be quite the jolt to Roy’s system.

“It’s okay, I’ve got her,” he grunted, hauling Thea back another step.

“I am so confused about what is going on right now!” Felicity groaned, leaning back into her chair in front of her monitor set-up so she could rub her eyes, as if she couldn’t believe what was she was seeing. Automatically, a smile played at Oliver’s lips, raising an eyebrow as Thea struggled in his arms. “Oliver, you just brought your mother, sister and stepfather down into our _secret lair._ Since when are they in the know?! _”_

Oliver couldn’t concentrate on Felicity’s question due to Thea angrily trying to twist out of his grip again. Putting authority behind his words, he ordered, “Speedy, that’s enough.” Thea froze in his arms. “There is a lot you don’t know at the moment that we will explain, but you can’t just tackle Roy to the ground when you don’t know the entire truth yet.”

It must have somehow been the wrong thing to say, because Thea whipped around and stabbed her finger into her brother’s chest violently, making him wince. “No, you don’t get to say anything to defend him! How long has my boyfriend been working with the Arrow?”

“… around three months now?” Roy offered weakly.

Thea attempted to jump onto him again. Oliver pushed her back, and fortunately Walter came forward to take hold of Thea’s arm and drag her forcefully back to where he and Moira were standing at the foot of the stairs. Pointing at his young trainee, the archer told him tiredly, “You are not helping your case here, Roy.”

“Sorry,” he sulked, turning back to Diggle so that he could grab his towel and water bottle. He was still dripping with sweat due to their group work out and training session.

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Go and get a shower,” he ordered. “You and Thea can have a discussion later.”

“Yes, boss.”

Keeping his eyes carefully fixed on Thea, he watched her reactions until Roy had vanished from sight into the locker room. Her expressions were ranging from betrayed, angry, confused and curious. Finally, with Roy out of the room, the tension was able to drain slightly and Moira, Walter and Thea were able to take a look around. Wonder appeared on all their faces as they slowly began exploring the space. Oliver made sure they always stayed in his sightline, whilst simultaneously turning back to his team to gauge their reactions to what was happening. Diggle was frowning, yanking on a fresh shirt, but there seemed to be some realisation and understanding in his eyes as his gaze followed the Queen family; Sara just looked as if she didn’t know what to think or say.

Finally, Oliver turned to Felicity. His chest instantly swelled with self-satisfaction and accomplishment, his back straightening and he smiled at her. Felicity looked proud. She was grinning ear to ear, that recognition that the Queen family wouldn’t be in the lair if they hadn’t accepted Oliver as the Arrow evident in her face. When their gazes clashed, the archer could feel his self-worth rising inch by inch by the second. She was so happy for him. She was beaming. All because he, at last, was being fully accepted by the people he cared about.

“Still waiting for an explanation,” Diggle prompted, loosely crossing his arms.

“Yeah, I’m interested in this too,” Sara added. “What’s the story for this?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure that I understand half of it,” Oliver admitted.

Both Moira and Walter had halted in front of the glass case holding the Arrow suit, staring up at it with something akin to admiration in their eyes. But upon hearing her son’s remark, Moira wheeled around to face the team. “It was the consequence of a rather complicated situation,” she explained. “Not really something to be addressed now.”

Felicity tilted her head sideways, a soft smile gracing her lips as she questioned curiously, “How long have you known?”

Walter glanced at her affectionately, questioning, “How long have we known for sure, or how long have we suspected?” When Felicity nodded, the Brit crossed the room to stand beside her, closely examining her tech equipment as he answered, “Both of us have known for sure for three days. We’ve both suspected since before the Undertaking.”

Oliver shot his partner a glare when Diggle snorted, muttering dryly under his breath, “Worst kept secret in Starling City.” Barely a second after that, he called out, at a higher volume, “Thea, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

His little sister turned back to them, wide-eyed and looking a little sheepish at being caught touching her fingertips to one of Oliver’s green-fletched arrows. “I still can’t believe this is all real,” she murmured.

“Neither can I,” Oliver replied truthfully. “I never thought this would ever happen… have my entire family within my secret base of operations.”

Sara coughed loudly. “Not so secret base of operations.”

“How exactly was it confirmed to you three days ago that Oliver was the Arrow?” Felicity stepped in, shooting Oliver a stern look when he glowered at Sara. Suitably chastised, the archer wandered over to stand just behind her chair, placing one of his hands on her warm shoulder and gently rubbing his thumb over the crook of her neck.

Walter looked troubled by the memory. “A woman by the name of Andrea Leeson managed to capture some photographs of the Arrow with his hood down, with some of his associates. She’s been silenced,” he quickly reassured, at everybody’s worried, panicked faces. “And she won’t be bothering us again. But the photos confirmed our suspicions.”

“The photos have been destroyed?” Sara asked seriously.

“… No,” Moira admitted. “They’re upstairs in Thea's office. They were being kept in my safe at my office. Which, incidentally, turned out to be a mistake. That’s how Thea found out. Snooping in my safe,” she added, shooting her a strict glance.

Thea raised her hands in surrender. “Okay, my bad, but you really shouldn’t have been keeping those there in the first place.”

“You all seem to be reacting remarkably well to this,” Diggle observed.

“Yes, well… we long ago accepted the high probability of - all this.” Walter motioned around the room, some awe still visible in his expression. “And, both Moira and I have been attempting to help you all. As subtly as possible.”

Beneath his hands, Felicity jolted upright with a sharp gasp as raised her hand and batted it against Oliver’s chest, saying excitedly, “I knew it! I knew there wasn’t an error in the bookkeeping - every other month or so there would be an anonymous wire transfer of money. The same amount as Oliver usually transfers!”

Diggle looked bemused. “That was you two?”

“You need the funds,” was all Moira said in response, her hand tangling with Walter’s almost absentmindedly. “Both of us were worried that your current medical supplies might not be adequate, and with how often Oliver appears to become injured -” with this, the Queen matriarch fixed a serious gaze on the archer, which he shrank slightly under. “We thought a little extra money would go the way.”

“Well, you’re not wrong about him getting injured often,” Felicity agreed under her breath sarcastically, turning back to her set-up.

Oliver flicked her shoulder, scowling, “Hey!”

“You do seem to have a knack for getting into trouble, Ollie,” Thea shrugged.

At that point, Roy reappeared from the shower room, ruffling his wet hair dry with a towel and wearing fresh clothes. He stiffened when he saw Thea, his cheeks reddening a little. Thea didn’t do anything to hide her glare at him. His eyes flickering back and forth, Oliver took note of everybody’s expressions; clearly Roy and Thea had something to hash out, and Sara was giving him a look that meant that she needed to speak with him alone.

“Alright, everybody,” he called out, regaining some order. “Thea, you very clearly have some words to say to Roy, so why don’t you two go up to the manager’s office and have a conversation.” He turned to Sara. “I’ll meet you in the south alleyway in five.” She nodded and quickly made her exit. Wheeling back to face the original two members of his team, and his mother and stepfather, he addressed Felicity softly, “You gonna be okay with them here?”

“Sure,” she replied brightly. “We can have a discussion about _you_.”

“For some reason I think this is going to be more of a discussion making _fun_ of me,” he replied, laughing.

“Nah, man,” Diggle shook his head, amused. “I’ll keep things under control; you go and see what Sara wants.”

Oliver gave a nod to his partner and then a gentle smile to Felicity, before he strode by his mother and Walter, only pausing to press a small kiss to Moira’s cheek and pat his stepfather’s shoulder solidly, before he vacated the Foundry to meet Sara, fully unaware of the conversation that had just arisen within his lair’s walls.

* * *

 

It had been a long night of truth telling, mixed with humorous storytelling to ease some of the strain from the tenser moments. Given the need for discretion when it came to how Team Arrow - Oliver could deny it all he wanted, but Felicity had everyone calling them that behind his back - spent their nights, enlarging their inner circle had made Diggle itch. He probably would have felt more comfortable with it if the team had a chance to voice their opinions about opening their operation to the Queen/Steele family before it happened, but as the exchange of information flowed, it became clear that had not really been an option.

Nor could he fault Oliver for using the opening to finally stop lying to his family. The boy had a tendency to keep the people who mattered most at distance, using their safety as an excuse to mask the real reason behind his actions: fear. Which, given what he faced on a nightly basis, saying that Oliver Queen and his alter ego the Arrow feared anything seemed ridiculous, but Diggle knew better. There was only one the thing that truly terrified his friend, and that was losing another person he cared about. The archer was under the false impression that if he could keep everyone he loved at a safe distance, he wouldn’t lose them. A misconception Diggle had been struggling to knock out of Oliver, since practically the moment he signed on to be his partner.

Now that his family was finally in the know, and had actually been invited into this sanctum, Diggle hoped Oliver was finally realizing that he could be the Arrow and have a life.

Hours later, with new searches setup to monitor Leeson thanks to Felicity, an official tour of their base out of the way, and the recounting of how everything had transpired after Oliver's return – his island years were still off limits, thankfully his family had understood that Oliver was not comfortable going there yet – they found themselves, minus Sara, crammed into a large curved corner booth at Eggs and Bakey. The funky little diner on the edge of the Glades, butting a burgeoning upscale, bohemian neighbourhood – the lure of rock bottom property prices had been a draw too good to pass up for many – had become one of their favourites. The coffee was strong and their breakfast selection was quite a large range, from greasy classics to the healthier fair Oliver favoured.

Enjoying an early breakfast on a Sunday morning, after a long Saturday evening with his teammates, was nothing new, but having the Queen matriarch, her ex-husband and Thea with them was, and made the whole thing seem, surreal. Never one comfortable with being hemmed in, Oliver sat directly across from him on the other outside edge of the booth, the one with better sightlines, a half-eaten high protein low carb breakfast with a side of demolished fruit in front of him. To his immediate left was Felicity; the duo sat so close together that their shoulders were touching. She was eagerly working on a short stack of blueberry pancakes. His favorite blonde was already on her second latte and kept sending longing looks towards the bacon on Oliver's plate. When ordering, she'd prattled on about how people thought pancakes needed to be eaten with sausage, and how being given a choice of breakfast meats with the meal had never made sense to her. Thea had gaped at Roy, who'd been put on notice that he'd be groveling for weeks before officially being back in her good graces, whilst experiencing her first ever Felicity Smoak babble.

In a not so subtle move, Oliver shared a slice with her, earning a look of delight from Felicity and a shared look of amusement and some mysterious feminine understanding that Diggle couldn't define between his mother and sister.

Walter sat on Felicity’s other side, serving as a buffer between her and his ex-wife. There was still some discord there, because of the confrontation between the two over Malcolm Merlyn. Diggle had been none too pleased to hear about the way the older woman had tried to intimidate his friend. If she’d been anyone other than Oliver’s mother, there would have been some intimidation on his end, but as it was, he’d decided to keep a close eye on how things developed there. He wouldn’t let Oliver’s blind spot towards his family hurt Felicity again. The Brit was working his way through a full English. Moira, and yeah, he was going to have trouble shifting gears and thinking of her as something other than Mrs. Queen, was beside him, indulging in stuffed french toast. As seemed to be tradition, she shared the confection with Thea who'd portioned off some of her eggs Benedict for her mother. The girl also pilfered some of the chorizo from her boyfriend's huevos rancheros hash.

Dig completed the half circle, his lumberjack breakfast nearly finished as he had concentrated on his food whilst the group around him talked and ate. He was being cautious and studying Oliver's family. Moira and Walter had time to adjust to the truth of who and what Oliver was, so he wasn't overly concerned about them slipping. Thea, however, was volatile and though her emotions had seemed to settle after a lot of yelling that she was Oliver's sister. For being an excellent tactical thinker, Oliver was also impetuous, as his unannounced introduction of his family into the lair underscored.

Diggle didn't doubt Thea's loyalty to Oliver or Roy, but things were hardly as smoothed over as the jovial mood of their meal implied. There would be outbursts yet to come and unforeseen complications would arise, but if being a soldier had taught him anything, it was to appreciate the good when he could. And right now, things were good. The biggest lies -- Oliver's secret identity and Thea's parentage -- were no longer hanging over the Queen family. Because of that, everything seemed more hopeful. Even with having to contend with Roy's altered physiology and tracking down who was behind bringing Mirakuru to Starling. There was a sense that a weight had been lifted and it made the fight at hand seem more manageable.

Two days later that all changed. The oncoming storm finally unleashed itself, in the form of Slade Wilson.

* * *


	3. Heavy is the Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slade Wilson comes a calling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya all. Lexi here, posting Chapter 3 :)
> 
> Thank you so much for all your support, we both really appreciate it! Really hope that you are enjoying!
> 
> If you were wondering, the wifey Bushlaboo will be replying to comments this chapter ;)

“Wait, so, back up. Mom and Walter are interviewing a new backer for the mayoral campaign at the house and they want us to meet them?”

Oliver sighed, gripping the steering wheel even tighter as he drove Thea’s black convertible Mercedes around a corner, into his family’s mansion’s neighbourhood. He’d been trying to explain the situation to his little sister ever since they had left the Lair after Walter’s call, but it didn’t seem to be sticking. Thea was currently curled up in the passenger seat, turned towards her brother with her elbow braced on the car door.

“Yes,” Oliver responded patiently. “Walter didn’t mention a name, he just said it’s a newcomer to Starling who is looking to get some influence in local politics, but they’re offering Mom a sizeable amount of funds that they can’t possibly decline or ignore. She wants us to make a good impression on them just in case they end up spending a lot of time around her office.”

Roy’s head popped up from behind Thea’s seat, and he slung his arm across the top of it as he leant forwards to ask, his voice slightly whiny, “And why do I have to come?”

“Because you need to earn some boyfriend brownie points with my sister,” Oliver replied instantly. Thea smiled at him happily. They totally understood each other.

“Technically, you’re the reason I lied to her and need the brownie points in the first place,” Roy continued to complain. “Thea, can’t you be mad with him instead?”

“Nope!” she answered cheerfully.

Roy grumbled. “The Universe hates me.”

“Look on the bright side,” Oliver offered. “You managed to escape a beat down from Sara in training.”

“I think I would prefer the beat down,” his apprentice muttered.

A smile quirked at Oliver’s lips. He had grown fond of Thea’s boyfriend over the last few months, and he did have to admit they had somewhat of a brotherly bond. And Roy made Thea happy. He liked it when his little sister was happy.

At that point, Oliver pulled the Mercedes up to the Queen gates. Waving to security, they were quickly let in and drove up the rest of the driveway, parking outside in front of the garage before heading to the front porch.

Holding the door open for Roy and Thea, Oliver called out, “Mom, we’re home.”

“We’re in the living room, sweetheart!” was the raised voiced response.

Oliver led the way inside the room, smirking back at Thea and Roy as his sister tried to smooth down her boyfriend’s shirt as much as possible and make his hair look a little neater. Turning back around to face his mother, stepfather and their guest, however, the archer froze, paralysed by complete shock and horror.

No. He was dead. Oliver had killed him on the island. This shouldn’t be possible. No. NO.

“Oliver, Thea, Roy, I’d like you all to meet Mr. Wilson,” Walter introduced, rising with a smile on his face, as if there wasn’t a violent murdering mercenary who had tortured his son sitting next to his ex-wife on their couch.

Slade fluidly rose to his feet and the menacing grin he fixed onto Oliver made his breath stutter. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Queen,” he rumbled, his gaze not wavering from the archer’s face.

Uncontrollable rage and fear swelled within Oliver. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut; he couldn’t just stand back and stand by when this maniac was in his house, with his family.

“What are you doing here?” He questioned tone low and dangerous. Oliver considered it a personal triumph that his voice didn’t shake.

A malicious glint in his single remaining eye, the Australian murmured with a dark chuckle, “Why? Did you miss me, kid?”

There were too many people, Oliver quickly realised. Too many vulnerable people that Slade could use to hurt Oliver within the room. “Roy,” he said slowly, “Get Thea out of here.”

The younger man looked startled. “But why -”

“Roy!” Oliver barked sharply. His gaze never flickered from the threat in front of him; his shoulders were tensing as he prepared for a fight, and his hands were clenching into fists. He could barely contain his fury.

Roy swiftly grabbed Thea’s hand, ignoring her confused expression, and tugged her out of the room. It was only once the front door slammed shut behind then that Oliver was able to focus properly, staring straight ahead at the man he’d once called his ally and brother. Hopefully, Roy and Thea would call the team and send back up - Oliver knew that if it came to a battle, he wouldn’t be able to fight Slade and protect his parents both at once.

Moira and Walter had both stiffened, sitting next to each other on the couch with their shoulders brushing. Judging by their slightly afraid and uncertain faces, they knew that they were in trouble. Oliver only wished they knew how much danger they were truly in, at that moment.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Oliver said, his voice almost a growl as he took a step forwards threateningly. “You should be -”

“ - dead?” Slade finished with a manic grin. He very slowly moved his way behind the couch, his strides sleek and lethal like a predator’s on the prowl. “I’m not that easy to kill, kid.”

Moira’s voice barely trembled as she asked quietly, “You two know each other?”

Slade laughed at that. As if it was a joke. Oliver’s chest tightened. The archer was a live wire ready to break a fuse; he was practically itching to move and attack, a nervous energy humming beneath his skin. He was an arrow nocked and drawn, waiting to be released.

“‘Know each other,” Slade repeated, smirking. “Yes, you could say that. I suppose we are quite well acquainted, aren’t we, Oliver? We shared living space, we hunted and ate together - we survived and fought together. Very well acquainted.”

Moira failed to hear the sarcasm within his voice, because her eyes widened with every word Slade said, until she whispered, awed, “You met him on the island.”

“Mom,” Oliver shook his head, shooting her a pleading look to be silent. He had to keep Slade distracted, distracted enough until Sara and Diggle arrived; his family and he were too exposed, too vulnerable. Turning to Slade, he said lowly, “You want to talk or fight, fine; but not here. We do it on neutral ground.”

“And miss out on the chance to meet your lovely family?” Slade drew out mockingly. His fingertips trailed down from his top of the couch cushion until they hovered just above his mother’s clavicle.

Milliseconds before his fingers made contact with Moira’s bare skin, Oliver had a combat knife whipped out and aimed, his entire body primed as he barked out in a snarl, “Don’t you dare touch her!”

Slade pulled his hand back. “Always so volatile, kid.”

“You lay a single hand on her,” Oliver warned.

“You’ll what?” Slade’s eye glittered. “Shove one of your green arrows through my remaining eye?”

He glanced down at Moira and Walter; it was obviously a comment he suspected would stun and alarm them. When neither of them reacted, Slade frowned. Oliver felt his confidence rise. Slade hadn’t bet on his mother and step-father knowing that he was the Arrow. That was definitely one advantage yanked away from him.

“Huh. Interesting.” The mercenary leaned forwards on the back of the couch so his breath could be felt on Walter’s neck. Seeing his step-father flinch, Oliver almost burst an artery. “I wouldn’t have counted on you being so trusting and open with your family. They know that you’re a monster.”

“We know our son is a hero,” Moira replied defiantly.

Slade’s expression darkened. “Is that what you believe?” he rumbled. “Well, maybe a history lesson would set that rumour straight. Right, Oliver? What about your little sister? Does she know?” He interpreted Oliver’s silence incorrectly, delightedly saying, “Oh, so she doesn’t.”

“Get away from them,” the archer growled, his fingers tightening around the combat blade as he struggled to stop himself from shoving it into Slade’s spinal cord.

The sympathetic look Slade set on Oliver sent chills running down his spine. “We both know that knife won’t do any harm to me, kid.”

“I imagine a bullet to the head would.”

Relief flooded the archer’s veins. Sara appeared just beside him, armed with two knives of her own and a hand gun strapped to her belt. The surprised look on Slade’s face told Oliver he hadn’t been counting on this either - Sara being alive, and allied with the archer.

“Long time no see, Lance,” Slade snarled.

“Not long enough,” Sara responded grimly, before ordering sharply, “Dig, now!” After a few seconds of nothing happened, she repeated fearfully, “Diggle? John?”

Slade laughed. “You really thought it would be that simple?”

“What did you do to him?” Sara snarled, trying to leap forwards to attack him. Oliver yanked her back - Slade was still dangerously close to his mother and Walter. If Slade’s control waned, he could kill them both effortlessly.

“Relax. Your little sniping black driver friend is alive,” Slade rolled his eyes. “He’ll have one hell of a headache when he wakes up though.” His single eyes gleamed as he said glee in his voice, “You all have your parts to play, Mr. Diggle included.”

Oliver’s already fissured shell encasing his anger cracked open. “We won’t be pawns in your sadistic game, Slade!” he growled. “We won’t be involved!”

And just like that, Slade completely and utterly snapped. He roared furiously, “YOU’VE BEEN INVOLVED EVER SINCE YOU ALLOWED IVO TO PUT A BULLET IN SHADO’S BRAIN!”

Seconds later, just as Oliver was going to throw himself forwards to tackle the maniac to the floor, Slade calmed and told Moira and Walter, in a vaguely apologetic voice, “I’m very sorry, both of you. Usually I have much more patience. Your son, however, seems to enjoy riling me up. No matter. We’ll soon see where his pressure points lie.”

And that wasn’t ominous and chilling at all. “Slade…” Oliver couldn’t keep the tremor out of his voice.

Slade turned to him, and the look he pinned the archer with was absolutely terrifying. “I keep my promises, kid,” was all he whispered.

With that, the psychopathic mercenary saw himself out of the mansion, the floor clicking shut behind him. Sara was visibly shaking beside the archer, her normal, infallible resolve shattered to pieces. Oliver himself was trembling, his breathing shallow and stuttered. Moira and Walter very hesitantly got to their feet; both of them looked slightly traumatised. All of them in the room were emotionally and physically drained from the encounter, on the verge of breakdown. But Oliver knew that his parents would have questions - intrusive questions that he would have to answer, for the sake of their own safety. Questions with answers that would inevitably result in him telling them about what he had experienced on the island, and about the Mirakuru.

“Foundry,” Oliver choked out. “Now.”

* * *

 

Felicity fought through a sense of panic whilst keeping a watchful eye on her monitors. She followed the steady path of the team’s trackers – so far, they’d run into no surprises on their way to the Foundry – whilst she worked to track the man Roy had identified during their brief call as 'Wilson' back to his base of operations from the Queen Mansion. He wasn’t trying to hide or be subtle in his shiny, high-end sports car, but his route was taking him closer to one of the dead areas in Starling. If he disappeared there, he could change cars or even settle into one of the buildings in the area and they’d never know, because she wouldn’t be able to adjust the position of the ARGUS satellite she’d hacked to get eyes on him before he reached the surveillance free zone. 

“Frak!” she cursed, as the car slipped beyond her purview. Felicity transitioned into setting up searches on the car’s license plate and running facial recognition against the archive of footage available to her, to see if she could pinpoint a potential base from Wilson’s previously captured movements through the city.

She startled slightly at the clanging of footsteps, but did not turn to acknowledge the arrival of Roy and Thea. Felicity called over her shoulder, “Five minutes out.”

“Any intel?” Roy shot back, as he and Thea moved to hover over her.

“Nothing actionable,” she answered. “He entered No Man’s Land off of Wabash.”

“Damn,” the vigilante in training muttered. “You really should have talked to Oliver about using some of his billions to install our own security camera network throughout the city.”

“I’m still working on a long-term cost analysis to determine if our— _his_ ,” Felicity corrected herself, “Money would be better spent on a satellite.” 

Roy snorted. “I’m pretty sure Oliver would buy you ten of them if you asked.”

In the reflection of her one of screens, Felicity watched Thea smack Roy’s arm. “We’re not that rich.”

Red hoodie clad shoulders shrugged as Roy looked around the lair in an exaggerated manner. “Could have fooled me.” He was saved from further tongue lashing by the low voice of Oliver demanding assistance. Spinning in her chair, Felicity saw Walter and Oliver struggling with an unconscious Diggle.

“John!” she exclaimed, shooting to her feet.

“He’s fine,” Oliver assured her, as Roy raced forward to help carry Diggle down the steps.

“Tell me that once we’ve ruled out a concussion,” Felicity grumbled back, placing a gentle hand on Diggle’s cheek once they had him down the steps.

“Felicity.” The way Oliver said her name was always special. He managed to convey so much with four little syllables. Their eyes met and she was sad to see that the more carefree Oliver Queen of the last few days had disappeared. The shrouded, closed off façade was back, and Felicity didn’t want to examine why exactly that made her heart feel pinched. “I’ve got him,” he promised. “I need you on Slade.”

It took a half a second for her for mind to connect Slade to the Wilson Roy had mentioned, and though Felicity knew she needed to start running searches on the name and any potential aliases, she hesitated, her eyes flittering back to Diggle. She had got used to patching up her boys after they’d been injured, so it didn’t feel right not to see to Dig.

A light touch on her shoulder drew her attention away from her injured friend. “You need to find him,” Sara said, and although her voice was neutral, there was desperate gleam in her sapphire eyes. Sara Lance, kickass super assassin, was afraid of this man. There wasn’t anything else Felicity needed to know. As much as she wanted to take care of Diggle, her team needed her to find the threat they were facing.

“On it,” she said, with a quick nod. Felicity briefly locked eyes with Oliver again, a silent reassuring conversation happening within that brief moment, before she was turning back to her computers. The next fifteen minutes passed in a haze of code for her. She had backdoors into ARGUS, the FBI, and... well, any federal acronym agency, along with Interpol. Australian SIS was new to her and normally she would have enjoyed the challenge of breaking into a new system, but Felicity couldn’t feel the usual puzzle solving delight. Not with a man that terrified Sara and Oliver on the loose and certainly not after he’d hurt Dig.

She had just cracked the extra layer of encryption on Slade Wilson’s classified mission for SIS and read the heart stopping words ‘Lian Yu’, when Oliver shouted, “They were five years where _nothing_ good happened!”

Oliver had shared that same sentiment with John and herself upon learning that Sara was alive and running around the city as the masked woman in black. Someone must have asked about the island. It was the only thing that could put that tone in Oliver’s voice and as Felicity spun to take in a scene across the room, she studied the placement of everyone to try and figure out whom the outburst was directed at and how it had come about.

Diggle was sprawled out on the med table, still but for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Sara stood near him, one eye on the machine monitoring his vitals and the other on Oliver. Roy and Thea were huddled close together, arms wrapped around each other, leaning against a pillar a few feet behind their designated first aid setup. Oliver stood in profile to her, ridged at Diggle’s feet, his shoulders hunched, and his face closed off. His mother was perhaps a foot away at an angle to him, Walter at her side.

The scene processed in an instance for Felicity. Whatever had been said to instigate Oliver’s reaction, it had been Moira Queen who’d spoken. Before she could speak and try to break the tension somehow, Thea piped in, “Unfortunately, the island isn’t Vegas, Ollie. What happened there didn’t stay there. You know the rule, no more lies.”

“Thea—” he pleaded.

“No,” she said forcibly, stepping away from Roy and towards her brother. “I know you don’t want to talk about it. That it’s hard. That it _hurts_. I don’t want to force you to do this, Ollie, but you wigging out about this guy – that spells trouble. So like it or not,” she continued as she settled just a few inches from him, “Hard or not, you have to tell us.”

His shoulders went even more taunt at her words. Oliver appeared as strung tight as his bow and the haunted look on his face made her ache for him. His eyes dropped from his sister as he took a shuddering breath before glancing quickly at Sara. Felicity wondered if he was looking for permission or forgiveness when the couples’ eyes met.

Whilst she had learned to read Oliver pretty well, Sara was still an enigma to her. The blonde lifted her chin ever so slightly. Was she indicating her assent, Felicity wondered. Her internal musing kept her from noticing that Oliver had turned, so he was looking directly at her, but it only took a moment for her body to register the shift. Somehow, she always knew when the archer’s eyes were on her. Felicity got up from her chair instinctively and crossed the room to join the expanded Team Arrow. She started to reach out, intending to offer Oliver a supportive rub or pat to his forearm, but stopped, because usually when he was wound so tight he didn’t like to be touched.

Instead of allowing her to casually drop her hand back to her side, Oliver reached out and clasped her wrist. “How are the searches going?” he asked, his voice low and on the edge.

“I’m downloading his history now, running through the various shell companies connected to his car, and searching the archive to see if I can get a traceable pattern to his movements around the city.”

“Impressive,” Walter commented.

“Child’s play for Blondie,” Roy said proudly, and Felicity felt her cheeks flush. Or, at least, she told herself it was because of the young man’s words of praise and not Oliver’s thumb rubbing gently across the underside of her wrist.

“Slade was with me on the island,” Oliver said, pressing head first into his past now that she’d given him assurances that their enemy was being addressed in the present. He kept his gaze locked on her, as if the confession was between just the two of them and not being shared with a room full of family and friends. “He wasn’t the first person I met nor my first ally, but he became a mentor. A friend. Practically a brother.” He voice dropped an octave on that word and the icy shell in his eyes shattered as they momentarily flickered over Diggle, before immediately skipping back to her.

“SIS, Australian intelligence,” he explained, although Felicity had a feeling that was for the others and not her. With the mention of downloading Wilson’s history, Oliver knew she’d seen the man’s tie to the organization. Somehow, Oliver acknowledging the others made his speaking to her feel more intimate. “Sent him to extract a prisoner the Chinese government stranded there.”

“Yao Fei?” she asked. The name of man whose hood Oliver wore was one of the few details that hadn’t needed to be dragged from him. He’d spoken of him fondly when showing off his tennis ball arrow trick for the first time, very nearly joking about how far he’d come. Witnessing his precision, it had been hard for Felicity to imagine a time that Oliver had ever been horrible with a bow and arrow. The weapon seemed like a natural extension of him when he held it.

“Yes,” he confirmed. Oliver had managed to reclaim control over his voice, but his eyes … they were stormy, and Felicity could see him fighting not drown in emotions. She kept her gaze on him steadily and prayed that he could see her unwavering support and belief in him, and trusted that nothing he revealed would alter how she saw him or felt about him. “He and his partner, Wintergreen, were sent, but they weren’t the only ones after him. There were other men on the island, _ruthless_ men.”

His mother drew in a sharp breath as she read into what that one word meant. Not all of the scars Felicity knew, but the first of them had been inflicted by those men. “They turned Wintergreen, so Slade needed a new partner to escape. He wanted Yao Fei but got stuck with me.”

“He prepared me and we got close, a plane was coming... we could have commandeered it but I couldn’t …” he paused and Felicity could see him reliving it. Wondering, doubting, but she knew the man he was and finished that part of the story for him, “You couldn’t leave Yao Fei behind.”

“No,” he confirmed, “And for all his protests otherwise, Slade couldn’t leave me behind. The plane came and went and we weren’t near it because they had leverage over Yao Fei that we didn’t know about. Shado. His daughter.” There was a new bloom of pain and regret in Oliver’s eyes and his voice had gone wistful when he said her name. Felicity remembered her snarky response the first time she heard it and felt a stab of guilt, because she’d allowed unfounded jealousy to rule her reaction then.

“It was a complicated plan we got caught up in, but in the end we stopped it. We rid the island of them, but Yao Fei died in the process. So it was just us – Slade, Shado, and myself – stranded and trying to figure a way off of Lian Yu. For months. They trained me, we all grew closer, and … Slade and I both fell in love with Shado, except neither Shado nor I realized Slade’s feelings for her.” Felicity could see Oliver’s shame in that admission.

“When Sara’s freighter arrived, we thought we’d finally found our way home, but it was just more misery and death. Ivo, the man leading the crew, was searching for Mirakuru and was willing to do anything to find it. Slade got injured and I wanted to save his life – _needed_ to – so we injected him with the Mirakuru to save him.” _I created him_ , his eyes screamed. _This monster. This new threat scraping away at the city. Me, I did it, I’m guilty._

Seeing Oliver’s anguish, Felicity shifted closer to him and slid her hand so that it was palm to palm with Oliver’s. She twined their fingers together and brought his hand to her abdomen, declaring with action and not words this time, that she was not leaving.

“It didn’t work, or at least we didn’t think it worked,” Sara picked up for him, her voice laced with remorse and dull fury as she explained how Ivo caught up to them, took them prisoner and confiscated the last of the Mirakuru. “I’m not sure if he was trying to teach me or Ollie a lesson, but he held a gun on me and Shado and told Oliver to choose.”

“What?” Thea gasped, appalled.

“Oliver was telling him that couldn’t choose when—”

“I leapt forward,” he broke in. “Ivo moved the gun from Shado to Sara. I’d just gotten her back. I couldn’t let her die. I couldn’t let either of them die. So I jumped forward wanting Ivo to shoot me. _That_ was my choice.”

Thea’s cry of “Ollie!” and Moira’s “Oliver,” rang out together, equally distressed at the thought of him giving up his life like that. Knowing he’d been that close to dying on the island, never able to return to them. 

“Ivo shot Shado.” Sara said, her voice detached. “Slade found us and it wasn’t long after that we realized the combination of his grief and the drug had driven him mad. He was obsessed with killing the person who took Shado away from him.”

“If Ivo killed her, why is he after Oliver?” Walter asked, though why he thought an insane person would think clearly was beyond Felicity.

“Because I told Ollie not to tell him why Ivo killed Shado and not me, and when Ivo told him about the choice, he made it sound like Ollie chose me over Shado.” She paused before confiding, “Most days, I think he should have let Ivo shoot me.”

“No,” Oliver snapped, finally breaking his gaze from hers to look at Sara. Oliver kept his hand in hers while he addressed his girlfriend, “I will always regret that Shado died, but I will **never** regret you living, Sara. You shouldn’t either. No matter what you’ve done since we got separated.”

“I will, if you will,” she countered tiredly, as if they had that argument before and had never resolved it.

“Well, I for one vote for you both being here,” Felicity spoke up.

“I second that,” Thea chimed in.

“I think we can all agree that having you _both_ back home where you belong is what we’d all choose,” Moira stated. “I won’t apologize for the fact that I am grateful that it was you who survived, Oliver,” she told him, when his focus shot to her. “I know I can’t talk you out of feeling the guilt you carry, but I also know in my bones that when you say you wanted Ivo to pick you, you meant it. You were willing to sacrifice yourself for them,” she said, traversing the short distance between them, “And you’re making that same choice night after night when you go out under that hood.” Reaching out, Moira cupped Oliver’s face in her hands, “It terrifies and humbles me that my son is so unselfish, that he’d risk life for strangers without expectation of thanks. I am so _proud_ of you, Oliver.” His eyes filled with tears at her words. “And I refuse to allow you to see yourself through Slade Wilson’s eyes.”

“You are my beautiful boy.”

Oliver collapsed his frame quavering frame into his mother, as he accepted her words, and Felicity found herself in the awkward position of holding Oliver’s hand while he clung to his mother, but she couldn’t find it within herself to pull away when he gripped them both so tightly.

* * *

 

When Oliver finally released his mother, stepping back, Felicity used her grasp of his hand to draw him to her side, whilst Moira went to Walter, bracing her hand on her chest. Thea was huddled up to Roy, but the sympathetic look she sent the archer sent his head reeling.

“I’m sorry to have to bring this up, but there’s one thing I don’t understand,” Walter sighed, appearing somewhat apologetic. “I understand that this - ‘Mirakuru’ drug enhances strength and abilities, and rots your mind. But Slade made a comment about you shoving an arrow through his eye - and you thought he was dead, son.”

Oliver chuckled darkly, his head dropping so his chin rested on his chest. Of course Walter would bring that up. He was too perceptive not to. He’d only ever explained what happened on the freighter with Slade to Sara, and even then, not in detail. He knew he owed it to his family to explain, but just thinking about what had occurred, what he’d been forced to do, was creating a suffocating weight in his chest, pressing down on his lungs.

A delicate hand curled around his bicep and the archer raised his head to meet Felicity’s calm blue eyes. Her steady gaze, by some miracle, managed to smooth out the storm that was beginning to surge inside of him. “Take a breath,” she whispered. “And only answer when you’re ready.”

He nodded, staring directly into her eyes for a few seconds as he forcefully inhaled and exhaled. Oliver could practically feel Felicity’s light purging some of the darkness inside of him, around the edges.

“When Ivo told Slade about how Shado died, he was angry,” Oliver began, his voice flat and low as he tried to keep himself under control, rein in his agitation to stop his panic attack. “At that point we’d taken the freighter. Slade knocked me out and he wanted me to suffer so he… He strung me up and electrocuted me repeatedly.”

Moira’s hand flew to her mouth in horror. Walter looked like he was about to be sick. Oliver couldn’t see Thea’s expression because she had her head buried against Roy’s chest, and the apprentice was too busy trying to comfort her to meet his mentor’s eyes.

“Oh _god_ ,” Moira gasped, her voice breaking.

“Son, I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” Walter whispered, the sincerity in his voice startling.

“It wasn’t the worst that I had to go through.” Oliver looked down at his hands, feeling that darkness, the memories of pain and suffering, once again come to the forefront of his mind, making it hard to breath. “And it certainly wasn’t the last time I was tortured. Electric burns were a walk in the park compared to what happened in the three years after.”

Thea was trying to hold in her tears, her hands trembling. “How did you survive that place?”

And, most likely the most honest he’d ever been with his family since he had arrived back from Lian Yu, he confessed silently, “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t.”

Walter’s pity was almost suffocating. “Oh, Oliver…”

His lungs felt congested with pebbles and sand again, his blood pounding too fast and heavily through his arteries. Oliver found himself, for a fleeting moment, unable to draw breath. Felicity tugged his hand. He turned and met her eyes. “Just look at me,” she said. “Focus on me. Don’t look at everybody else.”

Inhaling sharply, Oliver forced himself to continue talking. “After Slade tortured me, he branded me with Shado’s mark, and later when Sara broke me free, we fought. The freighter fell apart around us. He became trapped under a bar. He started threatening my family and friends, promising me that if he lived, he would destroy my entire life. In the end, I had the choice between curing Slade or killing him.”

His mother’s gaze was piercing. “And you killed him.”

“Yes,” he answered bluntly. Not moving his eyes from Felicity’s, which remained warm and kind, he added as an afterthought, “Well, I thought I did. I stabbed an arrow through his eye and then the freighter collapsed on top of me. I never thought to think the Mirakuru would help him heal and survive the brain trauma.”

“He did, obviously,” Sara ran a hand through her hair frustration. “And now he’ll be after all of us.” She looked extremely worried when he turned to face the archer, murmuring, “Ollie, he’ll be after Laurel and my dad too.”

Oliver opened his mouth, preparing to offer reassurances even though he knew that when it came to Slade Wilson, they had to expect the unexpected, and there was no guarantee he would be able to keep any promises he made to protect Laurel and Lance, but then a soft groan echoed throughout the lair. Rushing to Diggle’s side, the archer carefully helped him sit up, disconnecting the heart monitors and pulling the IV out.

Diggle rubbed his head gingerly, wincing as he touched the sore spot where he’s been struck. “What happened?” He questioned fuzzily.

Oliver shared a concerned glance with Felicity. If Dig wasn’t just a little confused, actually losing memory, then he could have a concussion. He motioned Sara to grab an ice pack for him and a pen torch to check his dilation, asking his partner cautiously, “What do you remember?”

“I was standing on the hill opposite the Queen mansion’s living room bay windows,” Diggle reported immediately. “I remember hearing Sara enter the room on comms and then -” He reached his hand up to the impact area on his head. “I must have been knocked out. It’s black after that.”

Felicity gently pushed Oliver to the side, taking the pen light from Sara to shine into Diggle’s eyes. Roy and Thea began a quiet conversation with Moira and Walter in the background, which for some reason helped calm Oliver massively, the muttering at the back of his mind smoothing over his nerves.

“Your pupil reactions seem normal,” Felicity hummed, much to everybody’s assurance. Sara handed the ice pack over and Diggle pressed it to his head carefully. “No concussion.”

“Isn’t that a relief,” Diggle grunted, swinging his legs around.

A smile tugging at his lips as his partner’s sarcasm, Oliver patted him on the shoulder, before turning back to the rest of the team and his family, who had all been watching the exchange between Oliver, Felicity and Diggle closely, most of them with fond grins on their faces.

“So I think the next thing we need to address is security,” Oliver cleared his throat, ignoring Felicity’s smirk beside him, although he felt a sharp tug at his heartstrings when she ducked her head abashedly when caught. “Mom, Walter, obviously you both have bodyguards due to the campaign, but Thea, currently you’re exposed. Slade’s men were also able to get into the mansion grounds as well, so we’ll have to up security there. Laurel and Lance are the people least protected at the moment.”

“Officer Lance works at the SCPD precinct surrounded by police every day, Ollie, he’s hardly exposed,” Thea scoffed, crossing her arms.

“He was kidnapped by Barton Mathis in the car park, in front of cameras in full view of the cops,” Diggle countered. “The police aren’t going to provide much safety for him.”

Sara raised her hand. “I’ll keep an eye on Laurel and my dad.”

“Great,” Oliver nodded. “Dig, I’d like you to be Thea’s bodyguard.”

“What?!” Thea screeched, at the exact same time Dig agreed, “You got it, boss.” He continued in a lower grumble, “And back to babysitting billionaires, I go.”

The enraged look Thea had plastered on her face was hilarious. “Oliver! No!”

“Your only other option is to have me follow you around instead.”

Her face screwed up into a grimace. “No thanks. I think I’ll take Diggle.”

Oliver quirked an eyebrow at her. “Alright, so the Lances and Thea are covered. Everybody will also need to have a bio-implantable tracker so Felicity can satellite locate you. If you think you are being followed or watched, you do not put it down to just paranoia - you call the team straight away. Everybody agreed?”

“Agreed,” they chorused.

“Then I think we’re done here.”

Roy called out, “Oliver. I… Think we’re forgetting something.” He had a pained expression on his face, and he was fiddling with his hands nervously. “If we’re telling them about the Mirakuru and Slade then we can’t tell them half-truths. Mrs. Queen, Mr. Steele and Thea should know… about me.”

Oliver shook his head, knowing he probably now looked pained as well. It was true; they hadn’t yet revealed that Roy was infected with Mirakuru. And he couldn’t argue that it wasn’t relevant, because it was. Felicity and Diggle were shifting uncomfortably in their places, exchanging constipated looks, whilst Sara completely avoided eye contact with Thea, Walter and Moira, who were all gazing around at them suspiciously.

“Tell us what about you?” Thea questioned softly.

“Roy,” Oliver cut in, when his apprentice made to open his mouth to speak. The hoodie-clad trainee swallowed. “Are you sure?” His tone was gentler than he’d wanted it to be, but the archer knew this was a sensitive subject.

“I’m not keeping secrets from Thea again,” Roy murmured. When Oliver tilted his head in respect and spread his arms out, giving him permission, Roy squared his shoulders and announced, “I’ve been injected with the Mirakuru too.”

The silence was deafening for a few moments, shock and surprise palpable, but then Thea began laughing in front of Roy, wiping tears away from her eyes as she tried to breathe through her giggles.

“Yeah, good one, Roy.”

“Thea, sweetheart,” Walter said gravely. “I think he’s serious.”

Thea instantly sobered. “No, he can’t be. This is a joke, right?” When Roy just kept on staring at her, biting his lip, she pressed, “Roy, tell me this is a joke.”

Struggling to swallow, Roy’s eyes flashed over to Oliver, and he tilted his head towards the back of the Foundry. Realising what he wanted to do; Oliver leant back against the medical counter and inclined his head to agree. They all watched, falling quiet as Roy backed away, vanishing into the darkness of the back of the foundry before reappearing again with a six inch thick steel rebar in his hands.

Exerting hardly any effort at all, and staring directly at the Queen-Steele family, Roy snapped the bar as if it was a twig.

* * *

 

Denial swiftly morphed into shock as Thea stared at the broken bar in Roy's hands. He'd shattered steel with brute strength ... the sense of awe vanished as the last few weeks suddenly made sense. “Sin knows?” Before her boyfriend could answer her rhetorical question, Thea charged on, “That's why we've been having tricycle dates and haven't—”

“THEA!” Roy shouted, his face reddening with embarrassment.

She pffted and rolled her eyes. “Everyone in this room has had sex before, Roy.” Walter's cough, her mother's sigh and her brother's groan filled the air, as Roy shuffled his feet, clearly uncomfortable.

“Probably,” he agreed, his eyes darting around, though when they landed on Felicity, he frowned. Seeing that expression, Thea knew she had gauged the brotherly affection he felt for the blonde correctly. “But none of us talk about it with our mom, dad, and _extremely_ overprotective brother in the room,” he said, his eyes pleading as they met hers. "I don't want to get castrated."

Still not ready to let him off the hook, she remarked, “Not that you need to worry about that anymore with the Mirakuru in your blood making you invulnerable.”

“Unfortunately,” Ollie groused. His quip earned him a disapproving glare from the female population of the room. Shaking his head at them, he said, “But that is why I started training him. Mirakuru makes emotions harder to control,” he explained, guilt and concern for Roy evident on his face. “It's easier to swing from extremes, to act and react without thinking.”

“Please,” Thea scoffed, “That's not new.”

“Hey!” Her boyfriend was pouting at her.

The hangdog look and the fact that he’d been dealing with something so huge and scary had Thea relenting. “You've been making significantly better life choices since you met me,” she assured him with a pat to his arm.

Sara snorted in amusement at her comment. "Other way around."

“Roy has been a rather good influence on you,” her mother agreed ,drawing her attention. Thea felt a but coming as she glanced at her, ready to go to battle on Roy's behalf. He may be an idiot about a lot of things – like not sharing said scary predicament with her – but he was her idiot. Souped-up or not, she wasn't giving him up. “But,” there it was Thea thought, “I appreciate the caution he's taken to ensure your safety around him.”

Thea opened her mouth to respond but only a breathy gurgle was admitted. Her mother being supportive of her relationship still managed to surprise her, even more so than Roy's show of unimaginable strength.

“I will never hurt her,” Roy vowed. The promise was on the edge of sweet and condescending, but Thea decided to let it slide because of how her family responded to it. Not one of them doubted it and Ollie even looked at Roy with pride. Her family trusted Roy at his word. They trusted her with him and that was huge considering all the trouble they had trusting each other. 

Her family was a messy work in progress, they all were, and Thea could accept that, but it didn’t mean she’d let Roy get a free pass. “You do realize all those boyfriend points you earned earlier are totally negated, right?”

“I figured,” Roy huffed out, as he ducked his head.

“Good. No more omitting,” she ordered fiercely. “Got it, mister?”

He chuckled, “Yes, madam.”

“Good,” she replied. “Now lose the metal so I can hug you.”

A group wide chuckle sounded as Roy immediately dropped he broken steel and walked into her arms. The levity was a welcome respite to the emotional upheaval of the last hour.

“As happy as I am to see that settled, I do have a question,” Walter said, as quiet, save for the hum of Felicity’s machines, settled over the foundry.

Ollie tensed slightly, but prodded, “What question?”

“You said you had the chance to cure Wilson, but didn’t—”

“Walter,” her mother hissed.

“It’s not indictment, Moira. I don’t question your choice, Oliver,” Walter assured the room. “I merely bring it up because if there is a cure, why haven’t you used it on Roy?”

“It got destroyed along with the Mirakuru when the freighter went down,” Ollie replied.

“Not to worry though,” Felicity chimed in. “We’ve given samples of Roy’s blood to some friends of mine at STAR Labs. They’re working to reverse engineer the Mirakuru with an eye towards developing a cure. It’s just going to take a while.”

“ _We’ve_ done what now?” Oliver growled. Thea was surprised by the dark tone of his voice and that it was directed at Felicity.

The IT genius didn’t even blink. “We discussed it, Oliver.”

Her brother stalked toward her, countering with an, “And I said, only after they were fully vetted.”

“You think I didn’t check them out when Barry was moved there?” Felicity shot back, her voice taking on edge that Thea didn’t think the bubbly blonde was capable of, as she crossed her arms over her chest. The scowl on Ollie’s face deepened at the mention of Barry.

“Felicity, you’re dangerously close to loud voice territory and my head really can’t take that right now,” Diggle broke in, physically stepping between her brother and his technical support.

The universe seemed to be on the bodyguard’s side because a beeping sounded from the computer setup. There was a heavy moment where Ollie and Felicity kept challenging each other with their eyes around the broad form of John Diggle, neither giving ground.

Finally, her brother dropped his gaze. The amused smile that spread across Sara’s face told Thea that he’d just conceded the battle as Felicity spun towards her screens.

* * *

 

If Walter had to choose a sentence to describe the next week, it would only consist of three words: _Back to Normal._ Back at the Foundry the night that Slade had broken into the mansion and threatened Oliver and their family and friends, after everybody was brought up to date on information, the archer told everyone to act as normal as possible - not to change their schedules, or do anything to cause alarm. To pretend as if there was no danger.

Walter hated it. Acting as if he didn’t know that his family’s lives were in mortal danger from a maniac who had made a promise to destroy his son’s life, was tearing him apart inside. Moira’s actions in the campaign office became wary, as if she thought she was being watched. When they walked through the streets together, Walter couldn’t help but glance behind him every few seconds, paranoid about being approached and attacked by the Australian or one of his minions from behind. From what Oliver had told them, it would be just like Slade to kidnap one of them and hold them hostage to draw Team Arrow into a fight.

At the mansion, however, the Brit felt unequivocally at ease. Maybe it was because Moira had offered to set up the entire team there, as well as Walter, and Felicity had set up a secure digital perimeter with motion sensors and all, so that Slade and his minions couldn’t ambush them. Maybe it was just knowing subconsciously that the Arrow and the Canary were sleeping in rooms the same corridor as him.

That said, Walter was more worried about Oliver than concerned about Slade striking against them. Ever since the Australian had come to the mansion, Oliver’s hypervigilance had been acting up. Walter suspected that it was memories of what Slade had done to him on the freighter that caused the archer to be constantly aware and alert of any possible threats for days, startling and flinching at the simplest of noises.

At breakfast, three days after Slade had turned up, Felicity accidentally dropped her fork when talking to Thea about tech upgrades for Verdant. Oliver reacted as if a gun had gone off. Later that morning, a delivery in the post came for Moira, from Central City’s own mayor, who was now wanting to back her campaign as well, and when the doorbell went off, Oliver half tackled Thea and Roy to the ground as if to protect them from machine gun fire. Moira was very worried, exchanging crestfallen and anxious glances with her ex-husband, but Walter didn’t know how to comfort her. He was equally concerned. He could only hope that Oliver’s team was supporting him, helping him through this difficult time. 

Felicity, of course, was her usual, bright, bubbly self, but whenever she was around Oliver, she seemed aware of the uneasiness plaguing him; she always placed herself directly in his sight line if she wasn’t able to touch him, and if they stood next to each other, she held his hand or brushed his elbow. Diggle and Roy took extra care to be quiet and not make loud noises. At night, Sara sat up with Oliver in the living room when he couldn’t sleep, watching TV with him. Thea and Moira tried to be as soft and gentle with him as possible, although Walter didn’t see that as the correct approach - undoubtedly Oliver was aware of their tip-toeing around him, and it probably irritated him.

Precisely a week after the incident, everybody was coming down for breakfast when Walter noticed a clear absence at the table.

“Where’s Oliver?” he questioned casually, but he knew that his eyes were drawn in and he was frowning in concern.

Felicity looked equally troubled. “I’m not sure,” she answered. “I checked in his room, but he wasn’t there. He was moving around a lot last night. I don’t think he slept very well.”

The decision to place Felicity in the bedroom directly next to Oliver had, to Walter’s surprise, been Moira’s idea. Perhaps she saw what Walter did - that Felicity calmed the archer down and offered him solace and peace in a world that rarely spared their son from suffering.

“He’s probably gone for a run or something,” Roy suggested, yawning halfheartedly as he leant into Thea’s side. “Check his tracker if you’re that worried.”

“His tracker?” Moira repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Your son has this awful habit on running out of us,” Diggle rolled his eyes. “It’s taken Felicity and I quite a while to train Oliver to the point where he stops and thinks before marching out to save the city and fight bad guys solo, without any kind of back-up. Occasionally, that training isn’t enough to keep his instinct in check. When he vanished for those five months after the Undertaking, Felicity and I attacked his wardrobe. We sewed trackers into all his clothes.”

“I mean, it’s highly likely that he noticed them and took them out,” Felicity mused, before grinning. “But he wouldn’t have thought about checking the soles of his favourite shoes.”

The expression on Moira’s voice told Walter that she approved, which made him chuckle softly. “You have no idea how relieved I am to here that Oliver has such an incredible team looking out for him.”

“We try,” Felicity shrugged, pouring herself a glass of OJ.

The bacon had just arrived when Diggle’s phone beeped. He checked it quickly before rising and apologetically saying, “Sorry, I’ll have to skip out on breakfast. I have to meet with an old friend.”

“’Old friend’,” Felicity smirked. “Lyla?”

“Anonymous source, but it wouldn’t surprise me,” Diggle replied.

“How do you know it’s not Slade trying to trick you?” Thea asked worriedly.

“I don’t think Slade Wilson would be texting me to ask me to meet him in a hotel suite of one of the most expensive hotels in Starling, Thea,” Diggle assured. But one of the effects of his words was Felicity wrinkling her nose up, muttering about ‘inappropriate things’ and ‘that’s why she wanted help lingerie shopping online’. “I have my trackers on me. If I get into trouble, Felicity will know.”

“Have fun,” Sara offered, with a shit-eating grin on her face as she began dishing bacon onto her plate.

“Hardy har har,” Diggle deadpanned. “See you later, guys.”

Breakfast chatter turned into more typical chatter, Moira and Thea questioning Sara about how Laurel and Quentin were doing, Roy beginning to chat with Felicity about a new training exercise that sounded, to Walter, like a hyped up, vigilante-version of hide and seek across the Glades. The Brit was content to sit back and watch with a small smile on his face, happy to hear his family and friends interacting so easily. It was inevitable really that his gaze would finally fall and settle on Moira. She looked more carefree than she had in quite a while, her smile glowing. Altogether, she appeared radiant, chatting animatedly to Sara about the usage of her bow staff.

Walter was startled out of his pleasant musings when Felicity cleared her throat, drawing attention as she looked down at her phone screen.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But does anybody have any idea why Oliver would be hanging out in an area of the Glades rumoured to be the location of the Starling City sector of the Bratva’s secret headquarters?”

For a moment, Sara had a look on her face that was a cross between livid and worried. “That’s where his tracker is?” At Felicity’s nod, a deep growl erupted from her throat as she shook her head violently, pushing her plate away angrily. “I knew he was on the edge of doing something stupid. But I didn’t think he’d do something _this_ stupid.”

Walter rose to his feet opposed her, asking firmly, so much so that it sounded more like an order, “Why would Oliver be visiting an area suspected to be ruled by the Russian Mob?” When Sara didn’t respond straight away, he lowered his voice and questioned, “Does Oliver have _friends_ in the Bratva?”

Sara turned to Felicity, raising her eyebrows. But Felicity just shrugged helplessly, saying quietly, “Dig mentioned Oliver had a couple of interactions with them last year, but nothing else.” Glancing down at her phone again, the blonde’s voice softened. Just like it always did when she was discussing or talking about the archer. “Go and get him, Sara. He’s been fighting the river current for a few days now, to no avoid. He needs our help before he starts to drown.”

“He hasn’t been coping,” Walter agreed. He was distressed at the thought of his child struggling mentally, but he didn’t know how to help him. Hopefully, Felicity had a vague idea. He shot a glance towards Moira. What he’d been thinking must have showed in his expression, because her back straightened and she gave a small nod of approval, pride and warmth shining in her blue eyes. The Brit knew what he had to do. “Sara, I’m coming with you.”

Sara looked dubious. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Mr. Steele.”

“Walter,” he corrected. “And this is my son, you’re talking about. I mean no offense, but trust me when I say that I will have a much easier job getting through to Oliver than you will.” When Sara still appeared unsure, he added gently, “He needs a father’s advice, Sara.”

Finally, Sara nodded. “I hope you know how to ride a motorbike.”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Well then, this will be fun.”

* * *

 

Alexi Leonov was not a man to be trifled with. He’d earned his position in the Bratva with vicious precision and unquestionable loyalty. When he’d been in Russia, Anatoly had advised him to tread carefully there. Oliver knew there had been rumblings about him after a prized assassin disappeared and a potential lucrative drug associate had first ended up institutionalized before experiencing imprisonment and ultimately death. His recent outrageous exploits with Anatoly had been enough to quell most of the speculation, but Alexi had still felt disrespected.

Going in heavy handed and ordering that Alexi use his men and the Bratva’s resources to find Slade Wilson for him was reckless, but his need for action – to be able to do something other than wait – was too strong to ignore.

The way his mother and sister walked on eggshells around him was grating and although they had managed to reasonably safeguard the mansion, thanks to Diggle’s and Felicity’s efforts, Oliver still found himself unable to sleep. Whilst there was some comfort in knowing he could keep a watchful eye on everyone he cared about, the flip-side of that luxury was that they were all vulnerably in one place, should Slade choose to attack.

In his five years away, Oliver had learned how to use everything at his disposal to achieve his objective. If it meant ruffling feathers and putting himself in a tenuous position with the Bratva, so be it. It would be worth it to get rid of Slade Wilson and the threat he presented to his family and his city. So he’d meant it when he told Alexi that the Bratva worked for him. They and anyone else he needed would work for him until Slade Wilson was neutralized.

Exiting the mob front Oliver hadn’t anticipated finding his … he wasn’t exactly sure what Sara Lance was to him anymore. Friend, ally – yes, but the romantic aspect of their relationship had stalled since the night he brought his family down into the foundry. She would sit up with him at night, keeping an eye on their friends, not forcing him to talk, because really what was there to say? Their shared sin was terrorizing the peace they’d managed to establish for themselves and the longer it went on, the more if felt like he was coming apart at the seams.

Walter looked a little ruffled having ridden on the back of Sara’s motorcycle. Oliver signaled her, letting her know it wasn’t safe to have a discussion here. He could feel her intense disapproval, but he continued to his Ducati Diavel, ignoring them as his phone chirped. Settling onto the motorcycle, Oliver pulled out his phone to read the terse text message. Shoving it back into his pocket, he nodded discreetly before revving the bike’s engine and peeling off to the meeting location Sara designated.

The speed of the motorcycle wiped away all extraneous thoughts from his mind. It was just the road and the surge of adrenaline pulsing through him as he swooped through the last of the morning’s rush-hour traffic. Enjoying the quiet and not really looking forwards to the conversation awaiting him, Oliver took the long way around to the secluded patch of the Starling City Park Sara had selected.

He saw Sara’s motorcycle when he got there but surprisingly the blonde was nowhere in sight. It was just Walter waiting for him for him on a bench, two steaming cups sitting beside him.

Oliver couldn’t stop himself from feeling a moment of panic as he worried about Walter being alone and exposed, but seeing Sara’s motorcycle out of the corner of his eye reminded him that the Canary was nearby and his stepfather was not unprotected. He took a calming breath before sliding expertly off of his high-end ride. As he made his way over to the bench, he did his own surveillance and assessment of the park. March in Starling was cool, so there no causal frolickers in the area, particularly since the damp air made the outdoors less than hospitable. 

The occasional call of a bird and the flapping of their wings were the only sounds over the muted city life traffic. As he neared Walter the Brit picked up one of the cups and held it out and up to him. “Coffee?” he offered.

Though not really in the mood for the caffeinated beverage, Oliver knew he needed the extra jolt to his system. It would keep him fueled whilst sleep continued to allude him. “Thank you,” he replied, taking the cup and he found himself enjoying the added bonus of the heat of it warming his hands as he sat.

Oliver took a sip of his coffee, straight black as he preferred it these days, his body still not used to large amounts of processed sugar or dairy. He caught the wafting crisp citrusy aroma from Walter’s cup. The distinctive scent could only mean that the other to-go cup contained his stepfather’s favorite tea, ceylon.

Walter spun his cup where it rested on the bench as he spoke. “I know you may feel, rightfully so, that it is not my place to speak with you about this, Oliver, but I in good conscience cannot keep silent any longer.”

“Walter,” he sighed out his stepfather’s name as he stared out over the park, not ready to meet his gaze or for the discussion that was about to happen.

The Brit did not allow his hesitancy to stop him from pressing on. “I have known you almost your entire life, Oliver.  Your father was a dear friend and your mother,” a soft chuckle escaped him. Walter didn’t have to say that their relationship was complicated, he’d seen that himself firsthand, and witnessing how they interacted since her release – well, Oliver wouldn’t be surprised if their relationship wasn’t as final as divorce implied.

“You love her and Thea,” he said quickly, hoping to avoid at least one awkward element of this conversation. “And you’re wrong. You’re family, Walter, which means even though you’re probably right about me not wanting to hear it,” he turned his head so Walter could see his sincerity, “You very much deserve to have me hear you out.”

“Thank you, Oliver,” he replied with a gratified smile. Seeing an emotion akin to fatherly pride, something inside him released. Oliver never thought he’d be able to inspire that kind of look after his father’s death. When he first returned home, he’d been resentful of Walter, having seen the man as usurping Robert’s place; but he'd observed how he cared for his mother and sister and the loyalty he inspired in Felicity, on top of the patience Walter offered him. Somewhere along the way, Oliver accepted that Walter wasn’t just a part of his life, but that he was _his_ family. Over the last few months, battling to keep control of Queen Consolidated, dealing with his mother’s trial and run for mayor, and more recently learning of the covert help he offered his alter ego – Oliver was beyond thankful to have an honorable man like Walter Steele in his life.

“So what it is that you need to say to me, Walter?”

* * *

 

Walter regarded Oliver carefully. Ever since the younger man had taken a seat beside him, the Brit had been internally debating what to say. A part of him had wanted to straight out give Oliver a stern telling off, but he knew that would be stretching their strange stepfather-son bond too far. There was also the fact that, upon seeing the archer, Walter had realised he couldn’t be too harsh - Oliver looked exhausted. Whether he knew it or not, Oliver’s hands were slightly trembling around his coffee cup and his eyes looked haunted and tired.

“The Bratva, son?” he questioned softly.

Instead of tensing up and going on the defensive like Walter expected him to - he could deal with him when he was like that - Oliver just seems to slump in his seat. “They’re helping me track down Slade. I didn’t have a choice,” he muttered.

“You always have a choice,” Walter told him, now employing a stricter tone. “And this time, you chose to resort to going to the Russian Mob for help rather than your family and team.”

“It’s not like that,” Oliver shook his head, refusing to meet Walter’s eyes. “It’s complicated.”

“Oliver, look at me.” It took a few seconds, but finally the vigilante glanced up into Walter’s eyes. It pained the Brit to see the pain and weariness there. “Frankly, I don’t care how you are involved with the Bratva. What I do care about is how you are not coping mentally after you discovered your arch enemy is still alive and has sworn to tear apart your life.”

“That’s precisely why I went to the Bratva,” Oliver sighed, placing his head in his hands and running his fingers through his hair. Walter watched sadly as the younger man’s nails bit into his scalp a little, as if the archer was punishing himself, or, more likely, grounding himself to reality.

“I don’t follow,” Walter said.

Oliver’s eyes squeezed shut and to the older man’s alarm, it appeared as if Oliver was holding in tears. His voice broke as he murmured, “Slade’s after you because of me. I can’t involve you any further, I can’t… put you all in danger when this is my fault. I should have to deal with this. I should have to find the solution. This is my fight, not yours.”

Walter wished Felicity were here. She would know what to say and do. He was definitely out of his depth. As Oliver’s father, he desperately wanted to give instruction and comfort him, but he knew that any form of affection, whilst the archer was this hyped up and anxious, would only cause Oliver to pull further away from him. Placing his hand gently on Oliver’s shoulder, he responded, “You could not be more wrong. You are not alone, Oliver. You have a wonderful, supportive team who will help you and stay by you, every step you take. It may feel like you have this massive weight on your shoulders, but you don’t have to handle this by yourself. Let your family and team take some of the load.”

Instead of his words having a calming effect, they only seemed to make Oliver more agitated. The archer surged from his seat angrily and began pacing up and down the park walkway in front of them, wringing his hands and shaking his head. “You don’t understand. I can’t _do this,_  let you all risk your lives trying to help me fix what I broke when _I don’t deserve to be helped.”_

Walter was astonished. But then again, he wasn’t. This was Oliver he was talking to. The man with the biggest guilt complex on the face of the planet. The man who’d lamented for half a year that it should have been him who had died instead of his best friend. The man who’d taken his father’s notebook and adopted a practically impossible mission, one his father never should’ve burdened with him, and then thought himself a failure when he couldn’t stop a plan that had been years, and billions of dollars, in the making. “Oliver, you can’t honestly believe that.”

“It’s true,” Oliver said bluntly. “I don’t deserve to be helped. I’m a liar and a murderer and I’ve destroyed people’s lives. I’ve tortured people and done inexplicable, unforgivable things. I don’t deserve your kindness and compassion, Walter. I don’t deserve Thea’s mercy, and I don’t deserve my mother’s understanding. And I certainly don’t deserve to have Felicity, Dig, Roy and Sara on my team. I’m the literal definition of darkness. I’m going to infect you all and there’s nothing—” Without warning, he tipped sideways to the ground and collapsed, unconscious.

Walter leapt to his feet in shock and distress, kneeling to swiftly check for Oliver’s pulse with a shaking hand. But on doing so, his hand moving over Oliver’s back to his neck, he brushed his fingers over a small green-fletched dart that had been shot into the archer’s back. Realisation striking him, he raised his head to be faced with Sara, standing around a foot away from him and frowning down at her unconscious partner.

“You drugged him and knocked him out?” he asked exasperatedly.

“He was monologuing,” was Sara’s reply. “Brooding and monologuing. At the same time. Your conversation with him was going nowhere.” She knelt down and got her shoulder underneath Oliver’s armpit, heaving him up. She faltered a little under his dead weight, so Walter quickly went around to his other side and got underneath Oliver’s other shoulder so they were sharing his weight. “It would be better for us to let Felicity get through to him. She’ll put him in his place.”

“Sara,” Walter said, annoyed. “How exactly are we going to get Oliver back to the mansion? He’s unconscious - and we came here on your motorcycle.”

“Hmm.” It appeared Sara hadn’t considered that. “Ever hot-wired a car before?”

“No!”

“Want to learn?”

Walter rolled his eyes. “No. We’re not stealing a car.”

“We’re not stealing it, we’re borrowing it,” Sara argued. “How else are we going to get Oliver back?”

“We could call Mr. Diggle,” Walter suggested.

“Yeah, Dig’s not gonna be back for a while,” Sara answered, a shrewd grin on her face. “He’s probably… _tied up_ in a meeting with his ‘old friend’.”

That was definitely not an image Walter needed. “Fine, we’re borrowing a car. But we _will_ be returning it, young lady.”

After they secured both Sara’s and Oliver’s bikes, the two of them headed towards the nearest car, which happened to be a small blue Fiat, parked on the road. Sara took a notebook out of her jacket and in a messy scrawl wrote a quick message saying sorry they stole the car, and it would be returned soon. Walter then helped Sara lift the unconscious Oliver into the backseat, but the archer’s frame was so large they had to fold up his legs to get him inside.

“Let’s get him back,” Walter sighed. He couldn’t believe that _this_ was his day. “And let Miss Smoak talk some sense into him.”

Sara finished hot-wiring the car and clambered into the driving seat whilst Walter slid into the passenger. Putting the car into drive and pulling out into the street, she grinned as she commented, “Let’s hope we don’t get pulled over by the police.”

“If that happens, you’ll be the one explaining this to your father, Sara.”

* * *

 

Oliver Queen had a number of wonderful qualities. His finest was his large, caring heart. Lian Yu had been unable to pulverize it when it had been within its icy grip. His heart had endured against all odds and Oliver’s ability to care was what continued to drive him to don his hood in an effort to better the city.

His worst quality was a tie between his massive guilt complex and his instinct to go it alone. His stubbornness wasn't far behind, but since Felicity was stubborn herself, she found it hard to fault Oliver for that one. All of her boys— _vigilantes_ —she corrected her rambling thought as not to excluded Sara, were stubborn.

The quasi-argument she had with Diggle earlier served as the most recent reminder of the obstinacy she faced. Convincing Oliver that he needed to rely on his team to help him, and not the fraking Bratva, would only be more difficult with John having jumped on a plane to Markovia. Not that she could blame him for wanting to assist Lyla on a mission where Floyd Lawton was involved. The tentative understanding that had developed between the two men after escaping from a Russian prison was another mysterious happening that had taken place on the trip that would not be named.

Felicity did her best not to think about the other thing happening. The one that involved Isabel Rochev. No easy feat, particularly today, since she had to deal with the vindictive co-CEO before she managed to rearrange Oliver’s schedule and escape QC after getting Sara’s pithy text. Team Arrow definitely needed to find a new non-drugging tactic to handle situations.

Not that she hadn’t been tempted to send Sara to ARGUS’s not-so-secret airfield, near their not-so-hidden facility outside of Starling to collect Dig by any means necessary. The only thing that stopped her was her research into Gholem Qadir. It told the story of a despot arms dealer hiding his illegal and brutal work behind charity. A real peach of a man, whom Diggle had admitted to having history with – it was clear to Felicity that Qadir was a man who very much needed to be stopped.

Though it was not a good time for it, they would just have to deal with being Diggle-less for a few days. Something Felicity knew Oliver would not be happy about, and would make her argument to lean on them a more difficult sell, but manageable nonetheless.  She’d already arranged the transfer of Thea’s security detail to Rob. He was A familiar face, having briefly been on Oliver duty; and he coordinated with Queen Consolidated’s security, since they were responsible for safeguarding both the company and the Queen family, to have a new man take over Walter’s detail.

All that was left to do was wait for Oliver to wake from his sleep, so she could address his shortsighted decision with him. Felicity knew she was stretching the definition of the word sleep yet again, but it was easier to think it was sleep rather than coma for Barry or forced unconsciousness for Oliver. Her wait was not fruitlessly spent time. She adjusted her search algorithms and started to rerun them in hopes of tracking down Slade Wilson, factoring in the new details she had managed uncovered. Although she was still battling layers upon layers of shell corporations and funding sources. Wilson had used the time to plot his revenge well, but if it was on a system connected to the internet, Felicity would find it. Eventually.

Once the new searches were set, she went back to reviewing and revising the proposal to absorb parts of STAR Labs into QC’s Applied Sciences division. Talking heads were astounded that Harrison Wells managed keep the vultures at bay after the particle accelerator explosion, but Felicity wasn’t the least bit surprised. This was _Harrison Wells_ after all; not only was he a brilliant scientist, but an astute businessman. Getting just a hint at some of the technology STAR Labs was working on whilst visiting Barry in Central City had convinced her that there was a real opportunity for QC, especially since STAR Labs already had an auxiliary storage site in Starling.

Although she had not had a chance to meet Wells face-to-face during her visits with Barry, the magnate had not rejected QC’s proposal flat out. Palmer Technologies, Kord Industries, Mercury Labs, Stagg Industries, and Wayne Enterprises could not boast such a claim. Not that anyone inside of QC, save for Oliver and Dig, knew about the opportunity. Felicity was certain that if Isabel got wind of it, she’d either tank the attempt or declare the idea as her own, which was why the Queen family’s personal lawyers were handling legal review for them. There were a few sections of the revised proposal agreement she’d received from STAR Labs representatives that Jean Loring’s team were unhappy with and some of the bio-engineering projects she had tagged interest in were still off the table. Felicity was working to incorporate the changes suggested and enhancing the appeal for partnering with QC on those areas STAR Labs seemed hesitant to share, when Oliver jerked awake.

“Hey,” she said, shoving her tablet aside as she leaned into his personal space, whilst being careful not to touch him. “You’re okay,” Felicity assured him, voice soothing. Oliver’s unfocused gaze settled on her and he leaned towards her as she said, “We’re all okay.”

“What—” he croaked. Oliver shook his head slightly in an effort to chase away the daze of the drug. “What happened?” His voice was deep and scratchy from sleep; the tenor of it had her spine tingling but Felicity ignored the sensation and focused on reading Oliver.

“Sara tranqed you.” Hearing her words Felicity winced as Oliver’s handsome faced clouded with anger. “Which isn’t as bad as it sounds – I mean, we’ve tranqed people before. Lots of people. And not just bad guys,” she offered, trying to soften his initial response. “Remember we did it to Barry.” The way Oliver’s eyes narrowed, Felicity knew she had stepped into territory that continued to annoy him. She hadn’t been jotting off to Central City nearly as often and had even agreed to postpone future plans until Slade was dealt with; frankly, she didn’t understand why Barry was still an issue for him. And Felicity found Oliver’s continued displeasure on that account exasperating, so she ended her justification of Sara’s actions with, “Plus, you’ve knocked out Diggle in less polite ways. Just be happy you’re not waking up with a headache.”

Oliver’s frown had not relented during her tumble of words. “She had no right.”

“Maybe,” Felicity conceded, but hearing about how Oliver had been acting she wasn’t so sure. Especially considering where he had been and who he’d met with.

“Maybe?” he hissed. Oliver moved suddenly, shifting his body so his legs were no longer sprawled out along the bed but were over the edge of it, touching the floor. His knees collided with hers and because of the height difference between the bed and the chair, they were eye level with each other, noses practically touching.

Instead of easing back, Felicity held her ground and glared at him. “You think Sara was being irrational, when you were the one who’d just met with the Russian _mob_?” she fired back.

“Fe-lic-i-ty,” Oliver drew out her name in the special way he had, the way that turned her insides to jelly.

“No. Absolutely not,” she underscored her irritation by crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re not whitewashing the fact that you made a ridiculously dangerous decision without consulting anyone, Oliver. I can’t be your _partner_ if you act unilaterally.”

He had the good sense to look contrite, but it didn’t stop him from repeating the words Felicity knew he shared with Walter earlier. Heartbreaking beliefs about himself – that he was undeserving, a monster no better than the criminals he took on, who was somehow going to sully them – sentiments that could not be further from the truth. Oliver spoke over her, not allowing her a chance to counter his remarks, until she finally shouted in her Loud Voice, “ ** _STOP_**!”

He startled and skittered back on the bed, finally putting a little distance between them. Felicity took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down a bit before she spoke again. “Did you not hear your mother? You’re not some dark fiend polluting our lives. You’re just not,” she told him, placing a hand on his knee because she could no longer fight her urge to touch him and offer some physical sense of comfort. “I know all too well what is to have a skewed sense of yourself,” Felicity admitted.

His aquamarine eyes lifted again to meet hers, disbelief that she could have ever doubted herself shimmering in them. He did it again, said her name in his special way, as his hand covered hers. “ _Felicity_.”

She let out a strangled chuckle and sidestepped her confession by telling him, “I’m not saying you’re perfect either.”

“Good thing,” he replied, with a huffed laugh.

“We have a choice in this Oliver,” she reminded him. “Remember? If you’re not leaving, I’m not leaving,” she said, repeating her declaration from the night of the Undertaking. “ _I_ chose this. I chose you. ”

The air hung heavy between them for a moment and Oliver’s eyes glimmered with an emotion she couldn’t quite define. Then her words registered and Felicity felt her face flush. “To help you,” she clarified quickly. “I chose to _help_ you. You just have to let me, Oliver.” Felicity squeezed his hand in hers, her eyes pleading as she beseeched, “Let all of us help you.”

* * *


	4. Squad Goals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver's rash decision to go to the Bratva gets faced with a dash of Lance family drama.

By the time the tranquilliser had fully worn off and Oliver was properly up and about again, able to stand without swaying from side to side, and walk without Felicity’s careful hand on his elbow, it turned out Thea and Roy had departed to the club with the bodyguard to prepare Verdant for that night. Moira and Walter had left together to head to his mother’s campaign office. It slightly calmed the archer to think that the confrontation with the rest of his family and friends was stalled for another few hours, allowing him time to prepare an explanation for why he went to the Bratva and how he was involved with them in the first place. He knew that Moira and Thea would ask, and despite Walter’s assurance that he didn’t care, his step-father would probably want to hear some sort of justification as well.

Felicity was the perfect person to test his explanations out on. When the two of them walked down from Oliver’s room, discovering the notes that had been left to inform them of the Queen family and their tag-a-long vigilante-in-training’s whereabouts, the blonde had gently guided Oliver over to one of the couches in the living room, turning on the TV for background noise whilst she fetched him an apple and a sandwich. His heart swelled with warmth as she handed them over and gave him a strict, yet soft, instruction to eat, as he hadn’t already that day. Beginning to work on her laptop, her bare feet on his lap as she sat horizontal on the same couch as he did, she just let him talk. Most of the time Oliver spoke about Arrow business, but occasionally he would talk about the most random of things, until after half an hour or so he began speaking quietly about the Bratva, watching her expressions shift and change as she worked on her new algorithm.

The time finally came for them to depart to the Arrow cave in the early evening. Oliver took the Mercedes and drove them both to Verdant, the two of them easily having a discussion about the new defibrillator battery they needed to buy for the cave’s medical supplies. Every so often, however, Oliver would find his eyes drawn to the blonde so he could stare at her silently. A fond smile played at lips as affection swept through him seeing Felicity talk animatedly about batteries of all things. He very nearly crashed the car twice because he lost his focus, his attention being on Felicity instead of the street.

Deciding a work out on the salmon ladder would help clear his head, Oliver was just finishing up, simply dripping with sweat, when Thea and Roy walked down the stairs, a harsh clunking on the metal staircase announcing their arrival. Roy started a quiet conversation with Felicity at her monitor set-up, whilst subtly shooting glances every so often his mentor’s way. The archer rolled his eyes at his sister, however - Thea stood directly in front of him, staring but making sure she wasn’t looking straight at his scarred bare chest, deciding that directness was the best way to go.

“We woke up this morning and you were gone,” his sister said accusingly, walking by Oliver’s side as he mopped the sweat off his chest silently.

“Yeah, I wasn’t tired,” he murmured, fixing his gaze on Felicity to avoid looking at Thea. He swallowed nervously when she set a fierce, raised eyebrow on him for lying.

“You should be, Ollie,” Thea said gently. Shaking his head, the archer tried to move away, but Thea snagged his hand. She immediately released it when he flinched away. “When was the last time you slept properly?”

He sighed, yanking on the thermal shirt he wore under the Arrow suit as he began dressing for that night’s street patrol. There was no point in being untruthful. And he had promised not to lie to his family and friends anymore. Sighing, he mumbled, “Right before I found out that Slade Wilson is still alive.”

Roy was hesitant and awkward, twisting his hands together, but he offered, “Do you want to talk? I mean…” he chuckled, “I know none of us are very good about sharing our feelings, but…I mean, we get it, Oliver.”

When Felicity spoke up, standing and turning him by the shoulders and brushing her hands down his forearms, her voice was incredibly soft and fond. He could feel himself calming as their eyes clashed. “It’s okay if you’re scared. I am, too.”

Oliver knew that it was part of his subconscious that was denial, but he protested weakly, “I’m not scared.” Licking his lips as he turned away to shrug on the Arrow jacket, he said firmly, “Slade came back to Starling City with an agenda. First, he tries to mass produce the Mirakuru. Then he shows up… at my home.” Meeting his sister’s worried gaze before swinging around to glower at Roy, he forced out, “So he wants a fight, fine. I’ll give him a fight. And this time, when I kill him, I will make damn sure that he stays dead.” Frustrated, he shook his head. “I just need to find him.”

“So going to the Russian Mob was -”

He bit out a growl. “I’m not discussing this with you, Roy,” he said sourly.

Thea stepped in front of him before he could grab his bow. “You’re losing your grip,” she argued. “Slade’s getting in your head.”

When Oliver replied, he sounded tired. He was slightly alarmed by how exhausted he actually sounded. “Thea, I just need this to stop. This… waiting. For something to happen. And for it to stop, I need to find him.” Turning back to Felicity, he told her, “I need you to look into an account number for me.”

She nodded, but still looked at him suspiciously as she spun back around to her computers. Glancing up at him as Oliver joined her, warily placing his hand on her shoulder, she questioned dryly, “And this account number would be…?”

“Associated with Slade Wilson,” was all Oliver gave her.

“And is this information the Bratva gave you?”

It was, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “Just… look into it for me?” She raised an eyebrow. Flashing a charming, friendly smile at her, hoping his puppy dog eyes would win her over, he added, “Please?”

She grumbled. “You’re lucky you’re handsome. I’ll get onto it.” Her computers beeped suddenly, causing Felicity to startle a little. She squinted at the code rolling onto screen before her hands danced over the keyboard before the video feed from Verdant’s CCTV popped up on screen. “Ah… Thea, it looks like your club has visitors.”

Leaning over, Oliver caught a glimpse of the screen. The grainy footage showed Detective Lance, Laurel and even Sara, all arguing furiously with each other in front of the bar. The archer had no idea why they would be angry with each other, but just the thought of the Lance family on the outs made him roll his eyes. He was about to ask Roy and Thea to head up there to sort them about when two figured appeared at the edge of the screen - his stepfather and mother, obviously arriving to join them in the Arrow cave.

Thea had wandered over, and as soon as Walter and Moira walked into the camera’s view, she chuckled, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Oh, this will be good. Anybody got any popcorn?”

“Thea,” Oliver sighed, shooting her a look.

“What?” she asked innocently.

“Go and sort it, please,” he motioned to the stairs.

“Why can’t you?” she huffed. Oliver sent her a pointed look, motioning down at his Arrow jacket. “Right… Roy, let’s go.”

“Oh, no, you’re on your own for this one,” Roy answered, taking a seat, not breaking his gaze from the screen as he settled next to Felicity. The blonde seemed equally interested in the movie that was going on in front of them. Moira and Walter seemed to be confronting the Lance family.

“Some supportive boyfriend you are,” Thea muttered.

Oliver could only watch with a smirk as she departed up the stairs, off to meet the fate being the mediator of the fight between his parents and the Lance family that was bound to erupt.

* * *

 

There were few things in the world that worried Sara Lance; in fact, she could list them on one hand. The most obvious was the threat right in from of them – Slade Wilson. He _hated_ with ferocity and had spent years planning his vengeance. This breath of calm he was giving them was just another tactic; an all too successful one based on Ollie’s oh-so-brilliant move earlier in the day, to sic the Bratva on him. He so obviously meant to distract and divide them if possible.

Then there was her former liege, Ra's al Ghul, who’d looked at her from the first moment that Nyssa had brought her to Nanda Parbat with recognition and a sense of ever growing disapproval as her relationship with Nyssa turned romantic. Sara had come to accept that the ache in her heart at the thought of Nyssa would always be there, no matter how much distance or what person – male or female – she chose to warm her bed. Her heart had been lost to the lethal beauty. If she could stomach life in the League, she’d still be at Nyssa’s side, no matter how much her heart longed for home … for her parents and her sister. There was a sense of guilt there as well, not just for choosing her own well-being over Nyssa, but for abandoning her love to her father and his archaic world. As the daughter of Ra’s al Ghul, as his heir, Nyssa could not leave, and Sara had been unable to stay. She would have accepted her death as the means of her freedom, but Nyssa had granted her life. Some days, that felt like a punishment and not a mercy, undoubtedly something which would make Ra's proud if he was aware, as Sara knew the move would be seen as a sign of weakness in the ruthless man’s eyes.

The Mirakuru pumping through Roy’s veins, infecting his mind, and the team’s unwillingness to see the danger it presented was her biggest concern outside of Slade now that her sister had sought help for her addictions. It wasn’t that Sara didn’t like the boy; she could see him struggling and trying, but in her mind, it was a fruitless battle. The drug was too strong and ultimately, it would win. She could not bank on a long shot antidote to cure him. Instead, Sara was preparing herself to do what the others would be unable to – end Roy permanently – and face the consequences.

What had been so low on her radar, that she hadn’t even considered the possibility that it could blip, was her father and sister inside Verdant for a little visit with her. Apparently her shadowing of the pair had not gone unnoticed, being interrupted with the unexpected arrival of the Queen matriarch and her not-so-ex-husband. Yet another wrinkle Ollie hadn’t considered with their inclusion into their nighttime activities.

Sara had anticipated her father to balk at their arrival during their family disagreement, but the usual hostility he had for all things Queen was strangely absent. Before she could properly ponder that little nugget, Laurel walked right into trouble by bringing up the trial. Sara had respect for the program that aided in keeping her father and sister on straight and narrow, but there were some things an apology, no matter how sincere – like putting a woman on trial for her life and exposing her long buried secrets – could make up for; not that her sister with her save the world optimistic attitude could or would accept that.

Moira’s bitter words brought out the protective instincts in her dad, and whatever nicety that had been present when the couple arrived, vanished. The sudden appearance of a smiling – which was clearly forced – Thea Queen, greeting them all with a, “Distracting my best bartender and rising a ruckus in my club isn’t going to earn any of you goodwill points,” brought their scene to an abrupt halt, whilst making them all aware of the audience of eyes on them. The club was about a half-hour from opening and their loud voices had drawn the attention of all the other employees, who’d stopped their prep work to watch the to-do unfold with fascination.

“Everyone without the last name of Lance get back to work,” Thea commanded. “The show is over.” There was some murmuring, but under the harsh glare of their boss, the workers scattered. Satisfied with giddy up in their steps, the younger girl’s eyes landed on her. “If you and your family need to finish your...” she paused for effect, casting a disappointed look over at Laurel and her dad, “... Squabble, I’d prefer it be done in private. You can use my office or the back alley, I don’t really care, but _this_ never happens inside my club again.”

“Thea,” her father tried to step in and smooth over the situation.

“I am not a little girl you can placate with hidden lollipops anymore, Mr. Lance,” she cut him off kindly. “You guys were – are,” Thea correct herself, “practically family, but this is _my_ business. Unlike Ollie, I take it seriously. Sara, you have exactly twenty minutes to wrap whatever this is up. I’ll have Roy finish the bar prep, but if you’re not back for your shift, you’ll have to find other employment.”

“Darling, I don’t think that’s—”

“My club,” Thea reminded her mother, eyes flashing. In response Moira nodded, a small proud smile adoring her lips.

“Understood, _boss_ ,” Sara said with a hint of cheeky amusement as she wrapped an arm around each of her family members to steer them away. As she led her family towards Thea’s office, she caught the brunette escorting her mother and Walter towards the basement stairs. That was going to get obvious she thought, so if the Queen family expected to be visiting their base regularly, they were going to have to start using the alley entrance or an alternative entry point would have to be crafted.

Once they were safely ensconced in the club’s office, Sara put a little distance between herself and her family. Through the wall of glass, she kept an eye on Roy who’d appeared swiftly to pick up where she’d left off and was bantering with her fellow bartender for the evening, Chad. “Now that we’ve all been properly chided by a teenager, can we just end this discussion?”

“You mean your defensive response to why you’re hovering?” Laurel challenged.

“Guess not then,” Sara muttered, blowing out an aggrieved breath.

“Honey, I think we have cause to be concerned, or do relentless assassins not ring a bell?” her dad asked, as he stepped forwards to cup her shoulders. He rubbed them, hoping this would help to ease some of the tension out of her.

“The League is not in town,” she assured him.

“Something is up,” Laurel insisted as she and her dad shared a private look. Sara knew what he was asking without words. He suspected it was Arrow related, and whilst he wasn’t wrong, it was so much more than that. Oliver was getting more comfortable with bringing his family into his life, his _real_ life, but she wasn’t. Not with so much on the line for her father professionally and Laurel still wobbling on the edge of falling back into bad habits.

Instead of telling them the truth, Sara evaded, something she had always been good at but had taken to a master level thanks to her time with the League. “It’s not hovering so much as escaping.”

“Escaping?” Laurel queried, bewilderment etched on her face.

Sara made a face, an intentional one meant to convey embarrassment and how uncomfortable she found the topic she wanted them to believe she was side stepping to be.

“Baby?” her dad prodded.

“It’s not like either of you were exactly... overjoyed with my romantic choice,” she replied, feeling only slightly bad for throwing Oliver to the wolves, especially given that the change in their relationship had been her choice.

Sara had always known that there was an expiration date on the romantic aspect of their bond, and not just because her heart belonged to someone else. Oliver’s affections laid elsewhere as well and frankly, that was a part of the appeal. He couldn’t fall in love and be hurt by her because a different blonde held his heart in her hands.

The move to bring his family more into his life meant that Oliver was finally ready to admit that he wanted more than just the hood and his mission. Eventually, a placeholder relationship wouldn’t be enough for him, he’d accept the feelings he’d been denying himself and make a move towards Felicity. She’d been putting distance between them on purpose, so he wouldn’t feel so guilty about it when it happened, but knowing Ollie, she’d probably have to pull the relationship ending trigger.

Laurel’s acidic; “You and Oliver are having problems?” drew Sara from her thoughts. Her father was frowning, but he didn’t appear ready to blow a gasket. Relief that Oliver Queen would finally be out of his daughters’ lives, or something else?

“Sort of,” she answered. Sara knew she was walking on quicksand with this direction, given all the history there, but she knew how to navigate that to her advantage with her family. “You’d think our similar scars would make things easier, but …” she trailed off, with a shrug of her shoulders. The mention of their physical suffering had the desired effect; the resentment immediately left her sister’s mossy eyes to be replaced by concern and her father drew her to him, hugging her tight.

He kissed the top of her head before saying, “No more shadows, baby. Come inside, be with us.”

“I can’t. Not always,” she said quickly, before either could protest. “This is still a lot,” she confessed, looking up at him. “Sometimes I need to be where I can see you guys, but I can’t – I’m sorry, Dad, but …”

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay,” he assured her, brushing away tears Sara hadn’t realized slipped out. “I’ve got you and it’s going to be okay.”

Considering what they were facing – what she was keeping from him – his promise seemed impossible, but even so, Sara believed it. She believed in him, not just because he was her father, but because Quentin Lance always kept his word.

* * *

 

Walter’s eyes followed the Lance family as Sara led her father and sister out of the club, trepidation flaring inside of him. He and Moira had accidentally walked into Verdant, interrupting a Lance family argument, where Quentin and Laurel had been confronting Sara about her following them around. It was understandable; Laurel  and Quentin both had absolutely no idea about Slade Wilson possibly being after them, although the detective probably suspected something was up and it was Arrow business. To be honest, Walter pitied Sara. Unlike Oliver, whose entire family now knew his secret, the blonde still had that massive weight on her shoulders of having to lie to her sister and father. He couldn’t imagine how that would feel - especially since it was now being rubbed into Sara’s face on a daily basis that the Queen family was in the know, whilst hers wasn’t.

“Let’s head down,” Thea rolled her eyes, keeping her voice low so that the Verdant employees couldn’t hear them. “Sara will sort it out. Whatever ‘it’ is. And one of you really should have texted to let us know you were here. We can’t just have you turning up at my club at random times whenever you’re coming down to the lair.”

“Well, Oliver has got to have another entrance,” Moira said, following closely behind their daughter and tapping the code into the security door before opening it for them. “One more suitable for coming and going without attracting any attention.”

“There’s a side entrance in the alleyway outside,” Walter explained, shutting the door securely behind them and descending the stairs. “Felicity told me earlier.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs to be met with the sight of Felicity seated in front of her monitor set-up, munching on some popcorn, although she spun around to wave at them happily when Moira cleared her throat to announce their arrival. Oliver was over in the corner, already dressed up in his Arrow suit and constructing some new arrows, his half-empty quiver beside him. Moira caught Walter’s arm and squeezed it as they exchanged looks, silently asking each other who would be the one to approach the volatile archer. But they didn’t have to decide. Oliver rose, swinging his quiver on and snatching his bow up, just as Felicity raised her voice.

“Oliver, I think I have something for you.”

“Hit me up,” the archer ordered, falling into place behind her and brushing his hand over her shoulder. Walter raised his eyebrow when Oliver turned to glance briefly at him, tilting his head to motion him over. He joined them at the set-up, interested in what Felicity was going to say.

“Okay, so, I know you gave me that account number,” Felicity started. “But I wanted to see if I could find anything legit before I looked into the tip we got from the Bratva.”

“Did you find anything?” Oliver questioned impatiently.

Felicity shot him a look. Walter couldn’t help the smile on his face when Oliver appeared properly chastised. The blonde always seemed to be able to put the serious warrior in his place. Oliver thought he was the leader of this operation - he could not be more wrong. It was hilarious to think that the fierce, experienced archer who had killed people was simply just a grumpy puppy to a blonde EA a head shorter than him.

“Sorry,” Oliver muttered.

Turning back to her screen, Felicity explained slowly, “I started by tracing the donation Mr. Wilson made to Moira’s campaign before he came to the Queen mansion.” At this, Moira slipped up to Walter’s side, gazing down at the information as well. She looked unhappy. “All of the money was routed through a series of offshore accounts. None of which link back to a local address, so I looked into credit card transactions and car rental agreements.”

Thea snorted. “Car rental agreements?”

Felicity snapped defensively, “What? He’s got to get around somehow, just not by rental car.”

“Slade’s former ASIS. He knows how to be a ghost,” Oliver assured her, rubbing his thumb into her shoulder soothingly. To Walter’s eyes, Felicity seemed to relax in her chair.

“Well then, I guess I could consider myself a real ghostbuster then,” she smirked. “All of the offshore accounts had other accounts linked to them. One of them just so happened to turn out to be local. And - surprise, surprise - It’s got the same account number as the one that you gave me.”

“So you found an address?” Walter questioned.

“Yep,” Felicity nodded. She turned to Oliver. “So I presume you and Sara will be hunting him down.”

Oliver shook his head. “No. Sara’s not coming. I’m not giving Slade any more targets.”

Moira looked slightly afraid at the thought of her son going out there to face a maniac alone, and in all honestly, Walter felt equally as scared. Slade had already demonstrated how much power he had over Oliver and the Queen family emotionally when he had come to the mansion. What if this account was a trap, and he was just trying to toy with Oliver’s emotions some more?

Thea spoke up, saying exactly what all of them were thinking as she protested firmly, “Ollie, you can’t go out there by yourself, it’s suicide.”

“This started with the two of us,” Oliver murmured, pulling on his green leather gloves, eyes lowered downwards. “That’s how it ends.”

“No, Oliver.” Moira sounded angry now. She stepped away from Walter, pulling her hand from his grip and Walter watched with pride as she told her son seriously, “If you’re not taking Sara out there with you, you are not going out there at all.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Oliver countered in a growl, stalking towards her, his grip on his bow tightening.

“I am your mother, young man, I can do exactly that,” Moira snapped.

Oliver’s face hardened. Walter instantly knew that the younger man was about to blow off, sensing his sudden anger and fury. He carefully reached forwards and tugged Moira and Thea backwards, away from the archer, just in case Oliver accidentally reacted violently in a physical way. Sometimes when his emotions got the better of him, he couldn’t control his physical actions.

Snarling, the archer spat out, “When it comes to my operation, my crusade, I make my own decisions. _I_ am in charge. When you are in the Foundry, when you are here as part of the team, you do _not_ try and act as my mother, telling me what to do or how to act.”

“You are _not_ going out there alone!” Moira shouted.

“I will do whatever I damn well please!” Oliver yelled back, towering over her.

Walter, Felicity and Thea shared exasperated looks. The Brit didn’t really know how to deal with this or interrupt, but just as he was about to step forwards and say something, the alleyway door entrance flew open and Sara stormed in, startling everybody. The archer quickly reached for an arrow, but upon seeing the identity of the intruder, he turned away frustratedly and shoved it back into his quiver.

“What’s going on here?” Sara demanded. “I was talking with my dad and Laurel and had to send them away because I could hear your yelling.”

“Oliver wants to go and confront Slade alone,” Moira relayed to her shamelessly, and Walter grinned at the fact that she sort of looked like a petulant child, Oliver too, when faced with the assassin’s stern gaze. “I told him he wouldn’t be going out there without you. He disagreed.”

“Alright,” Sara answered calmly. “Ollie, your mom is right. If you’re going out there to face Slade, you are not going on own. But Moira, you have to understand that Ollie has had a certain mindset since the island that he can’t involve people he loves and cares about in things he thinks present a danger to them. He views Slade as a threat. He will try to block us out and push us away. We aren’t going to let him.” At this point she shot a strict look Oliver’s way. “But we cannot pressure him, as that will only make him more distant.”

Walter knew that Moira would understand this, but she pursed her lips, muttering, “He doesn’t understand how I feel as his _mother_ , when he puts his life at risk so willingly.”

Oliver was shaking his head, bracing his head with his hands and then running his fingers through his hair. “Sara, are you coming or not?” he asked grumpily, finally seeming to give in to accepting having a partner accompany him.

“Give me a few minutes to suit up,” she smirked. Winking at Felicity, she added, “Keep an eye on him for me?”

“Always,” Felicity agreed, smiling. “Oliver, come here, you need to have your comm fitted before you go out.”

Walter had to chuckle. The archer looked once again like a grumpy puppy, stomping over to the blonde and ducking his head as Felicity fitted his comm unit. When Sara re-appeared again in her Canary costume, both she and Oliver quickly departed, vanishing from view to set out for the address.

The blonde pointed over to some stools. “You guys might wanna take a seat,” she suggested. “Missions can get stressful, and you’ll want to be sitting when the shooting starts.”

“Shooting?” Thea repeated, alarmed.

“Which - there will not be,” Felicity tried to reassure.

It didn’t really work. Walter wasn’t scared though. He knew that Oliver and Sara had this covered. And with Felicity watching their backs, Team Arrow could achieve anything.

* * *

 

He was about to make a deal with the devil. It wouldn't be the first time Oliver made that compromise with this particular devil. Not that he had much of a soul left to offer in trade. He could hear a voice in his head, one that sounded like a dangerously exasperated Felicity Smoak, arguing that self-assessment. A year ago, he wouldn't have thought he had any humanity left either. He'd fought against the fading glimmer that his family and Tommy had reignited upon his return home, but that ember had been stoked and grew with Diggle, and truly started to blaze unhindered with Felicity. If he had any soul left, it was inspired by Felicity. She was the reason he'd come home again after the Undertaking, why he struggled through being co-CEO of QC, and was willing to believe that he could be a better version of the Arrow.

Taking on Slade Wilson – his madness and manufactured strength – changed all that; there was no room for equivocating. Slade had to be stopped before he could do any harm to his family and teammates. Oliver knew he would not be able to stomach Slade using or injuring anyone he cared about. If he had to get into bed with Amanda Waller to see to that, so be it.

Oliver was tired of Slade's mind games. He’d found a brief sense of purpose fighting through the guards stationed outside the address Felicity had managed to uncover. The hard thud of his fists cracking bone as he and Sara tore through the enemy was more satisfying than most would find acceptable, but for Oliver it felt like he was finally doing something. Though little good could come from finding his old friend with no cure or say a bazooka – Felicity really was rubbing off on him, but he could not resist the need to get his hands on Slade. To crush the threat he presented with his bare hands.

He’d felt a sense of validation and relief while chipping away at Slade’s resources. Striding into the dark office space, squinting to make out a form in the turned desk chair against the bright light of the projector Oliver had felt confident for the first time since being ambushed by Slade in his family home. His enemy had invaded what had always been a safe place and left him feeling vulnerable and exposed. Oliver very much wanted to make Slade feel that way with his unexpected intrusion.

He had not been stealthy when entering the impersonal office and it felt like Slade was mocking him by not turning to face him. Oliver had growled softly as he charged forward, intent on confronting his nemesis even if he was physically outmatched. He was ready for battle, aching for a bruising fight, anything to unleash the building tension and unease that had been festering.

Turning the chair to find Alexi with an arrow through his eye – the same eye he’d driven an arrow through Slade – was a shock to him system. His raging blood turned icy, but what knocked the breath out of his lungs and sent him spinning was when he spun on his heel and saw the images being projected into the dark.

 _Shado_. Carefree and smiling, so beautiful and fresh faced, untouched by the events of Lian Yu.

He’d fisted his bow so hard in his hand it nearly snapped in half. It was only Sara’s voice over the comm, giving him a heads up that she was headed his way that had broken through the bitter heartache that smacked him to standstill. He couldn’t let her see this, to experience the overwhelming guilt and regret that he knew Slade had intended with the display. So he barked out an order for her to hold, informing all ears on the channel that their target was not in the building.

He hid his intentions behind a frustrated facade and solitary training after a brief regrouping at the Foundry. After giving him a good once over and assurance that they’d find Slade, Thea had gone back up to oversee the club and make sure Roy was handling his surprise bartender duties to her satisfaction. Upon her exit, Oliver allowed himself to get lost in the practiced movement of his body as he struck the solid Muk Yan Jong frame to the sounds of Felicity fingers flying across her keyboard whilst Sara murmured potential strategy with his mother and Walter.

He kept it up until he was alone with nothing but the hiss of pipes and his own thwacks to keep him company.

The moment he’d seen Slade’s taunt, Oliver knew what he had to do. Felicity was right, but then again, when wasn’t she? He needed help. But not just from his family and friends. He needed an organization that actually stood a chance at taking down Slade Wilson, a group more treacherous than the Bratva, and far less trustworthy because of who ran it. Amanda Waller had been the cause behind so much of his physical and emotional suffering that he had decided the Bratva was a better avenue to track down Slade then ARGUS.

That was no longer the case. He had to use every resource at his disposal, even if willingly going to Waller for assistance turned his stomach to acid and had every nerve ending in his body firing in protest. Oliver pushed that all aside, and after he’d thoroughly exhausting his body into submission, he zipped through the quiet streets of Starling towards ARGUS instead of heading back to the mansion and his waiting family.

His ingress into ARGUS was soundless, yet when he entered Waller’s office she greeted him with back turned with a, “Hello, Oliver.”  Her voice was as sharp and slick as her navy pinstriped suit.

He was unable to keep his tone as cool as hers, the heightened emotions of the past few days and his dislike of the woman before him were just too much to disguise, when he replied with a matching acknowledgment, “Hello, Amanda.”

She turned, crocodile smile in place and asked, “Still mad at me?”

Oliver shifted in place, narrowing his eyes on hers and crossing his arms in front of him, bulging his muscles in a move meant to intimidate the steel hardy Director of ARGUS. If only even a little bit. “Lucky for you,” he ground out, “you've been pushed down that list.”

Surprise was the only reaction she allowed. “Really? Who do you want to kill more than me?” A dark brow quirked as she asked, clearly believing that no one could supplant his hatred of her.

“Slade Wilson is alive,” he said, with no preamble.

He saw it then, a flicker of fear in her walnut eyes that she tried to pass off as disbelief. “You killed him. It's not possible.”

Because he knew it would irritate her, Oliver shrugged his shoulders. “Everything is possible where Slade is concerned.” The next part was hard for him to admit, and Oliver was certain that his reluctance was visible in every aspect of his countenance.  “And I need your help to find him.”

She didn’t bother hiding the enjoyment she got out of his admission. “I might have something,” she told him, as she turned back to her desk.

“What?” he asked, as she flicked a hand to bring up her desktop on the wall screen.

“There's a new player we've been tracking—a mercenary. He's left a trail of bodies from Macau, to Istanbul, to Lisbon.” He could tell by her tone that this adversary had impressed her with his skills. What that could mean had a knot forming in his gut – Oliver knew how Amanda liked to use unconventional, and often times unwilling, assets. “A trail that leads right here to Starling,” she informed him, as she opened the file.

A familiar physique clad in orange and black, adorned with a matching facial helmet, displayed on the screen. “We've been calling him Deathstroke.”

* * *


	5. Of Ex-Girlfriends & Plausible Deniability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As if waiting for Slade Wilson's next counter move wasn't enough the team must deal with the return of Helena Bertinelli.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all have Becky (nvwhovian1) to thank for reminding Lexi and I that this exists. We've actually talked starting up rounds again, though not in our original rapid fire way. Probably more like one every week or two. We'll see what happens, but Ipso Facto may be a thing again. ~ Marian

Moira had to admit, being in the Lair seated next to Felicity, watching her son and Sara Lance out on a mission together, was exhilarating. The anxiety and concern she felt knowing she was helpless to aid Oliver and his partner out in the field did not prevent the Queen matriarch from understanding why her son was addicted to being the Arrow.

Because it was like an addiction.

Moira had come to that realisation a cold night alone where she’d woken up sweating, the nightmare of Oliver bleeding out in her arms fresh on her mind. She knew that Oliver would struggle giving up being the Arrow. Walter and she had gone through some of the reports that Felicity and Diggle had written during their son’s first year of being the Vigilante. It became pretty clear to them both that Oliver believed he was doing penance for things he had done on the island, and that trying to force him to give up his vigilante activities … it would destroy him internally. And it was due to that knowledge that Moira knew that she couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ , ask Oliver to stop.

And because of that, she, Walter and Thea were being dragged into the managing of his addiction, alongside Felicity, Diggle, Sara and Roy. Moira found that she silently, secretly enjoyed the adrenaline of the situation. The control she felt like she had. And she understood that Oliver needed that control as well, so she couldn’t blame him. Because of Malcolm Merlyn, Moira had been subjected to countless horrors and forced to do awful things for years, having almost all of her self-control taken away from her, so she was left helpless and terrified for her family’s lives. Oliver needed that control so he could ensure his family and friends didn’t get hurt - in fact, Moira was proud of him for that.

“SCPD have arrived,” Felicity said, startling the Queen matriarch out of her thoughts. “Yeah, Lance is there.”

She was talking to Oliver and Sara through a private comm link, so Moira couldn’t hear what her son and partner were saying, only able to understand one side of the conversation. Oliver had explained it was to do with how Thea had a bad habit of distracting them during ops unintentionally. But even then, she could tell when the blonde was talking to Oliver. Her lips quirked up into a small smile and she spoke with a familiar affection, always brushing her fingers against the comm unit in her ear as if she could feel the connection to the archer.

“Could you look at these for me please? … Mrs. Queen?”

Having thought she was talking on the comms, the Queen matriarch raised her eyes from the screen, where she’d been examining the tracker icons of everybody on the team. Walter was at Starling National Bank, Thea in Verdant above them, and Diggle was with her, having requested to take the night off in order to recover from his mission with ARGUS's Suicide Squad. Ever since they’d had the bio-implantable trackers inserted and linked to the satellites, Moira’s mind had been put at ease. At least now if one of them was kidnapped, they could easily find out where they were.

“It’s Moira, dear,” she reminded the younger woman, for what felt like the twentieth time. It probably was the twentieth time, to be honest. Felicity disliked calling both Moira and Walter by their first names. “And of course. What exactly will I be looking at?”

Felicity was typing out code on her screen but quickly slid a file over to her. Flicking through it, Moira was surprised to see a drafted contract for a collaborative deal between QC’s Applied Sciences division and STAR Labs. Reading the fine print, the Queen matriarch felt a strange sense of satisfaction and pride. Her son and Felicity had written and built this together - and it was fantastic. It seemed flawless; it was a plan that would bring profit to both companies, and result in groundbreaking technology.

“Oliver!” Felicity exclaimed suddenly, panic in her voice. Moira looked up, alarmed that something had happened to hurt her son, but then the blonde asked frantically, “Is Quentin alright?” A beat passed, and Moira held her breath, but then Felicity sighed in relief. “Oh thank god. Sara, please tell your father that he should really avoid getting shot so often. I’m already stressed enough because of you two.”

She continued grumbling under her breath for another minute until she turned to Moira and asked nervously, “So what do you think of the contract?”

“I think I couldn’t have done better myself,” she admitted. “It’s foolproof. Walter would agree. You and Oliver did a very good job.”

“It was mostly Oliver,” Felicity told her, smiling. “He’s been having the occasional half hour lesson from Walter on business financials, and he’s come a long way. I only had to polish it up.” Suddenly, she froze and turned back to comms. “Oliver, please tell me you’re kidding.”

“What’s happening?”

“We need to call Thea and Walter,” Felicity said instead, not answering her question, which only caused a spark of irritation to flare in the Queen matriarch. But she could sense Felicity was annoyed as well. “Oliver will want you all in a secure location; we’ll have to arrange a safe house.”

“Felicity!” The younger woman went still, turning to her. Moira placed her hand on top of the blonde’s and asked calmly, “Tell me what’s happening. Explain why a safe house is needed.”

“SCPD just took Frank Bertinelli into custody,” Felicity told her, lip curled in distaste. Pushing away from her desk, she had a very unhappy expression on her face as she added, “And if he’s here… well, then Oliver’s crazy ex-girlfriend won’t be far behind.”

“‘Crazy ex-girlfriend?” Moira repeated, agitated. Oh boy, her son just constantly seemed to get into trouble.

“Helena Bertinelli,” Felicity informed her flatly. Okay, very unhappy was an understatement. She sounded like she was livid, but attempting to rein in her anger. “Better known as the Huntress. She’s the one who shot at you and Frank last year. Well, she wasn’t really shooting at you, her father was the target - but it resulted in you getting hurt with a concussion. And you weren’t the only one. She threatened me, tied and roughed me up so she could get information, and she sprained Tommy’s arm to manipulate your son. She’s threatened to kill all of us before to force Oliver to help her.” She shook her head with a grim smirk, finishing, “And Oliver is not going to be happy she’s back in town.”

* * *

Order. Precision. Control.

Growing up in a military family, Adam Donner had been taught the first two, never unkindly, always with care, but had always craved the latter. Every few years, his life got upended. Not only a new city and state, but sometimes a whole new country where the common tongue was unfamiliar. A new house, new neighbors, new school, new friends … and the moment he felt accustomed to them, that they were his, that he once again felt like he was _home_ , his father would receive a new assignment. Over and over again the cycle repeated, until finally Adam was able to choose his own course – where he went to college, what he studied, what he’d do with his life after he graduated. He mapped it all out and worked hard so the city he chose to adopt as his own would embrace him as one of their own.

Law gave him purpose and structure, the ability to aid others had become an intrinsic part of who he was, but he wasn’t made like his father, able and willing to go and physically defend. There were other ways he could protect and serve. He could make his city a better place while earning the power and prestige that would assure him of his ability to decide his future. He, and no one else, was going to be the architect of his destiny, and did he ever have grand plans for himself. ADA to district attorney, to state legislator, to governor, and who knew … perhaps someday the most hallowed office in the country would be his own.

He had been well on his way, gaining the accolades of his boss and peers, when he’d been gifted with the perfect stepping stone in the form of the prosecution of Moira Queen. The interest in her case went beyond Starling City; the whole nation had been captivated by the Machiavellian doings of Malcolm Merlyn and his last admitted accomplice standing – a woman who came from old money and whose family was mentioned with the likes of the Vanderbilts, Rockefellers, and Du Ponts. And with Queen Consolidated’s global reach, there were would be worldwide interest in her fate.

He had been on the cusp of greatness, only to have his plans shatter because he really did have the attention of the whole city. There had been no way to prepare himself for the likes of the so-called Count. His status had been a bullseye on his back he’d been unaware of and he – Adam Donner – had become the pawn in another's game. Broadcast live and wide, he’d been found weak and wanting, succumbing to the burning pain of his body. He’d become an unwilling drug addict.

That failure had not been held against him, but those of his hand selected co-counsel had been. Laurel Lance had lost a slam dunk case and then preceded to spiral out of control as he worked himself through a brief stint in rehab. By the time he returned to the district attorney’s office, a woman he had once hoped to impress personally and professionally had completely tanked her life and taken him down with her. _He_ had been the one to recommend her hiring to the DA; her work for CNRI had been flawless garnered her a respected reputation, her tie to law enforcement was seen as a boon, and her passion for Starling had been the icing on the cake. All that in a beautiful package, no wonder she'd seemed like the perfect partner for him, in law and in life.

That bright vision Adam had envisioned was crumbling into dust. He'd gone from a valued resource to the butt of jokes. The tarnish over his once rising star status seemed to grow as Moira Queen’s support and poll numbers swelled. That she would be allowed to become the highest elected official in the city made Adam bristle. Particularly since his support seemed unwelcomed by her competitor Sebastian Blood. 

He needed a win. A way to make himself matter again. To course correct his path before everything he worked so hard for was naught. Frank Bertinelli and his homicidal daughter, Helena, offered him his golden ticket back on track. It had taken months of negotiations, but his bold move to recapture his status was finally coming to fruition.

Frank had turned himself in, giving the fed’s what they wanted – the vestiges of the Bertinelli family and their allies – and a way to draw Helena Bertinelli in. Freeing Starling of the menace of the brutal crime family and seeing to it that neither father nor daughter would darken their streets with blood again would be a massive win. It would be a tide turning achievement for him. He would be back on track with a sympathetic underdog story to his name.

There was just one little snag as far as Adam was concerned. His gambit was risky and there was only so much personal risk he was willing to take after his harrowing experience with the Count. He needed a babysitter for the cheese in his trap. One he could manipulate. Laurel was desperate enough to believe herself capable and deserving of redemption, and as far as he was concerned, she owed him. Not only for dragging him down with her, but disillusioning him personally. He’d staked a lot on the troubled beauty and had lost big. Using her to get everything back seemed righteous and it was his calling to seek justice.

He didn’t think it would be hard to sell to her on the chance to reclaim what had been lost. And really it hadn’t been, he had dangled the carrot during their phone call and when she questioned why her, he'd fed her abused ego, citing her experience with RICO counts and playing up how that made her the ideal person to take on Frank Bertinelli. Then he’d played his trump card. Telling her the case was hers if she wanted it, but only if she was ready. Adam knew all too well the desperation of an addict; after all, it was his own fueling him and feeding Laurel. She had agreed, because she was as eager as him to be the person she once was before their shared disgrace.

He justified his ploy with her because ultimately Laurel would benefit, at least a little, from his maneuvering.  He handled her sanctions with the bar, meaning she’d be able to practice law again – which would not have been the cards without him – just not to with DA’s office, he’d make certain of that. He’d have his elite status back and Laurel would eventually be able to eke out a life for herself.

All he had to do was sit back and wait for Helena Bertinelli to blunder into town intent on exacting her revenge. 

* * *

Sara snarled under her breath as Laurel ended their call while she was in mid-sentence. The news report announcing her return to the District Attorney’s office and her prosecution of Frank Bertinelli sat like a lead ball in her gut. Her sister was smarter than this – she knew Helena Beterinelli’s violent history and of her hard-on for the father. Anyone involved with the case could end up being collateral damage in her quest for revenge.

Laurel refused to acknowledge that. She was so focused on getting her life back on track that she was unwilling to see the danger she was readily walking into, then there was the added fact that she was completely unaware of the jeopardy she was already in thanks to Slade Wilson. Sara had been poised on the edge for so long now that her older sister’s stubbornness was liable to be what finally pushed her over.

Sara focused her breathing, in through the nose and out through the mouth, holding for five seconds before exhaling as she tried to settle herself. To control her raging emotions. If she allowed herself to be ruled by them it could very well cost her something she wasn’t willing to lose and she had already lost enough. That wild, uninhibited girl she’d once been. Her family and how once upon a time they had been a cohesive unit. Pieces of her soul, scattered across the global as she’d done the League’s bidding. A large part of what was left of her heart when she fled Nanda Parbat and Nyssa.

She was broken now, as was her family. Glued back together, they fit like jagged pieces of painstakingly repaired china, something too precious to be discarded even though lined with visible cracks. When she felt like they might fall apart again under the stress of Laurel’s resentment and addiction and her father’s unrealistic hope for things to fall back together as they used to be between them all, it had been Team Arrow that had been her center. They held. And because they did, she did.

_Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold._

Even as the line from Yeats flickered through her mind the strong, clear sound of Felicity’s voice filled the foundry. The center, Sara thought as she looked up to see the IT genius behind her monitors as she explained how Helena managed to slink into the city. She was certain that Yeats would have had second thoughts about his poetic assertion if he’d known her.

The scene at the workstation was a familiar one – Oliver and Diggle hovered near the petite blonde. As per usual, Oliver made sure to plant himself in front of Felicity. Sara was beginning to suspect that it wasn’t so much about keeping her in his sightline, as much as keeping himself in Felicity’s view. Diggle was off to the side, close to them, but just shy of sharing the personal bubble around the archer and his hacker.  

As Felicity rambled on about fraternities, she spun in her chair and declared, “Anyone with boobs can get a frat boy to do anything.”

Sara agreed, silently, though she could not stop her lips from quirking in amusement. Across the room Oliver’s intent gaze stayed focused on Felicity as he deadpanned, “I was a frat boy.”

As if that was a sound argument. Again she and Felicity were in agreement as the pony-tailed blonde countered back, “I rest my case.”

Oliver shifted, straightening his spine and widening his shoulders as a mixture of exasperation and affront briefly crossed his face. Before more could be said by either of them, Diggle steered the conversation back on track. The Huntress had returned to Starling City and while there was very little they could do about Slade at the moment, Helena Bertinelli was one problem that they could eliminate.

* * *

Diggle hated loose cannons. Whatever form they came in. Back in the Special Forces, if one of his teammates and fellow soldiers disobeyed orders, or didn’t listen to him, they’d been disciplined severely. Here, with Team Arrow, there were loose cannons everywhere - everybody seemed to have become antsy and unpredictable as of late. Oliver had sent his mother, step-father and sister off to an undisclosed safe house, not even bothering to consult Diggle or Sara before shepherding them off to that location. Out in the field, Roy was letting the Mirakuru get the better of him, so he was nearly killing people, and Sara kept on going off on her own to try and sort out the mess that was Laurel Lance. Truth be told, Diggle was worried.

Oliver was currently sitting at his workbench, silently putting together some non-lethal arrows, whilst Roy was doing the same across the other side of the lair. Apparently, arrow-making was meant to be relaxing, and help calm you down, which was why after making Roy slap water for a week, Oliver had started training him in arrow craftsmanship. Diggle didn’t know what had gone down between the two men, but Roy was definitely ignoring the archer, and Oliver was definitely every so often shooting anxious looks his apprentice’s way.

Felicity remained a light in the darkness. She hummed gently to herself under her breath as she tried to track Helena Bertinelli down, lifting her gaze from her screen when she sensed Diggle’s eyes on her to give him a small smile, her eyes warm and kind, like they always were. Diggle couldn’t help but smile back. At least Felicity was one constant within the team.

About to approach Oliver to talk to him about Roy, he was startled out of his musings by Sara storming down the staircase, looking frustrated and angry - with, to his shock and surprise, Moira Queen trailing along behind her. Ah. Another loose cannon for Diggle to deal with. Great. _Not_. Moira was probably the worst loose cannon of them all - only because she had that maternal instinct and pride about her that made the bodyguard kind of shrink whenever she gave a lecture or stern talk, and he mostly agreed with whatever she said. Moira Queen was a pretty wise, logical woman, Diggle couldn’t deny that.

“Mom,” Oliver rose to his feet. “What are you doing here? You’re meant to be at the safe house.” His annoyance was clear in his tone, but Diggle had to snort, because the archer spoke in a resigned way, almost accepting instantly that he couldn’t make his mother do anything she didn’t want to.

“I have a meeting with the Central City major at four, sweetheart, I’m not going to hide in a hole when I have things I need to do,” Moira told him firmly, straightening her back in a regal manner. “I just thought I’d come and check in - how is tracking Miss Bertinelli going?”

Everybody turned to Felicity, but the blonde didn’t say anything, just made an irritated noise and raised her hand, waving them away dismissively without even turning. Diggle saw Oliver’s lips quirk in a smile, and smirked to himself. That boy was head over heels for her.

“Not well, I presume,” Moira translated.

“She arrived in Starling,” Oliver told her. “Felicity’s trying to find out where she is right now.”

“To no avail,” Diggle added.

Sara couldn’t seem to contain herself any longer, pushing forwards angrily and exclaiming, “Laurel won’t drop the Bertinelli case. She’s headed to court right now.”

Moira’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry? I wasn’t aware Laurel was still -”

“Donner asked her specially to deal with the Bertinelli case,” Oliver interrupted, rubbing his brow with a frustrated sigh. “Which is extremely dangerous.” Turning to Sara, he questioned, “Did you tell her -”

“That Helena was back in town?” Sara finished. “Yes, I tried. First thing she asked me was how I knew that - what was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, I work with the Arrow and his tech team got me the info’?”

Oliver shook his head, grabbing his coat and shouldering past his mother gently to head towards the staircase. Felicity swiveled her chair around to exchange raised eyebrows with Diggle, who just shrugged.

“Where are you going?” the assassin asked, grabbing Oliver’s sleeve and yanking him back.

“To the courthouse.”

“Well, hey, you forgot your baby arrows,” Sara snarled.

Oliver instantly hardened, going still to not convey any emotion, his eyes stony. Diggle recognised the move - it was one he’d learned to watch for, after two years of working with the archer. It was a defence mechanism for when Oliver was becoming upset, but didn’t want to show it. Sara stepped back at the archer’s cold gaze, crossing her arms. Moira hummed warningly, putting herself almost between the two of them, so they could lash out at each other.

“Sara,” she said sternly. “Explain.”

“Oliver doesn’t want to hurt Helena,” Sara informed her shortly. She looked around the older woman to stare at Oliver as she hissed, “Look, I get your whole no killing spree, but if it comes down to saving Laurel or killing Helena - ”

Oliver made a frustrated noise. “Sara, those aren’t the only two choices.”

“Well, you were happy enough to let Dig take the kill shot when it was Slade threatening your family.”

Oliver looked away in exasperation. His voice, however, was much softer when he spoke. Diggle knew he was trying to lower his barriers, trying to show some vulnerability so that Sara could connect with him, understand him. The bodyguard himself tensed; Oliver exposing himself to Sara never seemed to end well. Almost always, she took advantage of it.

“This is different. I failed Helena. I created the Huntress.”

And of course, Sara made a painful blow. “Yeah, well, you created Slade, too.”

Hurt flashed across Oliver’s face, and he took a step back immediately, ducking his head.

Both Felicity and Moira snapped at the same time, “Sara!”

Moira tried to wrap her hand around Oliver’s arm to offer some comfort, but the archer shook it off, saying softly, “Mom, Felicity, it’s fine.” Staring directly into his partner’s eyes, Oliver allowed her, “You’re right. You’re right. But when it comes to our families neither one of us thinks clearly. Which is why you have to stay here.”

“Ollie, I can’t.”

“I’m not going to let anything happen to Laurel.” He exhaled shakily. “Sara, I care about her too.”

There was a brief moment of frigid silence, and then Sara nodded, giving in and turning away. Diggle relaxed slightly, watching cautiously as she walked away from the archer and his mother so she could begin the once again, calming activity of arrow crafting, to try and smooth down her nerves.

“Mom, you’re with me,” Oliver announced, shrugging on his jacket.

“Oh, I am, am I?” Moira raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, it won’t take long to speak to Laurel at the courthouse. I can drop you off at your meeting with the Central City mayor afterwards.”

“Are you sure it’s not just because you want to keep an eye on me?” Moira asked. When Oliver swallowed nervously, she sighed. “Oliver, Slade Wilson will not try to kill me when I’m having a meeting with one of the most high profile people currently in this city. Especially not when there will be cameras rolling. The same with Miss Bertinelli. I don’t need a bodyguard.”

Oliver didn’t say anything. Instead, he hit her with what Diggle had called ‘the puppy dog look’. It was an expression where Oliver opened his eyes very wide and stared innocently, occasionally blinking, where he tried to make himself look as young, and puppy-like, as possible. It was a look that could coerce people into doing almost anything - the only person immune to it was Felicity. Moira, certainly, wasn’t insusceptible.

After barely five seconds of the ‘look’, the Queen matriarch gave a heavy sigh and said dryly, “Very well, if it will give you peace of mind.”

“Thank you,” Oliver smiled. “Let’s go.” As the two of them made for the stairs, the archer turned back and fixed a serious look on Sara. “Stay here. I mean it.”

It was only once the security door shut behind them that Diggle swung himself onto a stool, quirking an eyebrow at Sara as she grumbled under her breath like a five year old who had just been scolded. Felicity twirled around, snickering softly.

Sara looked at them both and questioned glumly, “What do you guys think?”

In a very flippant voice, Felicity replied, “Oh, I think if the Huntress shows up, you should totally kick her ass.”

Diggle nodded frantically in response, and seeing Sara’s weirded out, confused face at their response, he could only laugh.

* * *

Oliver had experienced those inexpiable moments in life – the ones where everything seemed to move achingly slow and ridiculously fast at the same time. Felicity would offer up some explanation about how the human mind processed the reality of a traumatic experience, but considering the number of harrowing moments he had survived Oliver would have thought he’d been immune to the effects of such incidents. And yet, when the situation turned sour inside the courthouse he had been unprepared.

He shouldn’t have been given his intimate knowledge of Helena and her obsession with making her father pay. He’d witnessed the rage and madness that had overtaken Slade upon Shado’s death and still Oliver had believed that he could funnel Helena’s virulent emotions into less homicidal actions. He had the best of intentions, but he could not be what Helena needed, and beyond his inability to care for her as she desired Oliver knew the thing that she’d resented the most was that he wasn’t her lost fiancée Michael.

In murdering Michael Staton, Frank Bertinelli had sowed the seeds of his own destruction and ruined his daughter. He was a cautionary tale and an example of why Oliver had tried so hard to go it alone in his mission and his life.  After so many of his choices had led to death and heartache in the years he’d been away he returned to Starling wanting to ensure that the decisions he made could not negatively affected someone he cared about again. Oliver had been certain that his naivety had been stripped painfully away from him on the island, in Hong Kong and finally in Russia; but his belief that he could govern such things proved otherwise. The things he actually had control over versus those he tried to contain were few and he didn’t have time to explore why that caused an itch between his shoulders.

Things like Frank Bertinelli’s arrest and return to Starling, Laurel’s refusal to back down from prosecuting the mob boss, his mother’s rebuffing his need for her to stay in the car while he ran into the courthouse – she had received a text and as she so coolly explained to him it was something she could handle now or they would have to backtrack after her meeting with Central City’s mayor, or Helena ambushing her father’s proceedings. His heart rate spiked as the rat-a-tat of machine gun fire sounded and screams filled the air. Panicked civilians bumped into him, separating him from Laurel as Helena’s crew circled the room, while the security guards and agents escorting the prisoner hesitated upon seeing the numbers and weapons they faced.

In the center of the pandemonium she sparked was Helena Bertinelli. She stood tall, her near raven tresses getting lost in the head-to-toe black she wore. She cut a dramatic figure with in her long, black leather duster and pale skin contrasting with her dark mask – her blue eyes electric with malevolence. Oliver wasn’t certain if she would be willing to hear him out, but he had to try. He shifted into her eye line and held up his left hand, his palm to her pleading with her to stop, as he took a few steps towards her. When she raised her crossbow at him Oliver jerked to a stop and said, “You don’t have to do this Helena.”

She titled her head and offered him a smirk with her painted lips. “I think we both know it’s too late for that, Oliver.” She flicked her weapon, dismissing him as her attention fell on her father. “Hello, daddy.”

“What are you waiting for?” Frank shouted and Oliver couldn’t understand why the man was goading her but as she moved in for the kill pounding feet suddenly reverberated through the tense quiet that had settled over the lobby. Agents in FBI issued tactical gear stormed the area, their appearance drawing more cries from the potential collateral damage.

Oliver cursed under his breath as Helena was ordered to stand down by the officers. She sneered at her father. “How did they convince you to be bait, _daddy_?” she asked brandishing the moniker like a weapon. “What did they offer you?”

“Nothing,” he jeered in response, hitting her back with his own revulsion for what she’d – what they had become. “After what you’ve done, knowing you’ll be behind bars is reward enough.”

The team leader issued Helena a final order, ending with ominous warning that, “The building is surrounded.”

Helena looked unperturbed. Her eyes flashed with icy resolve as she taunted, “Remember what you taught me, _daddy_? Be prepared for anything,” she spat, releasing a bolt as she ordered, “Fall back! Take hostages and fall back!”  

As Frank was rushed from the area and the officers returned engagement fire, Oliver barked, “Hold your fire!” as his eyes scanned the chaos for Laurel. He caught sight of her ducking into a stairway; she was trapped behind a line of Helena’s goons but had at least avoided being scooped up by them, as he leaned downed to help an injured woman. More shouts of “Hold your fire!” and “They have hostages!” rang out as he led the woman from the fray.

Spilling out of the courthouse and onto the street and the disarray of a quickly forming staging area Oliver handed off the grateful woman to an EMT and frantically searched the crowd for his mother. It took three surveys for him to finally acknowledge the horrific truth – his mother was still in the courthouse … with Helena.

* * *

“We are live outside the Starling City courthouse, where Helena Bertinelli and an unknown number of assailants seized control of the entire building. And I’m now being told, they are holding a number of hostages inside.”

Lance was off duty, standing in his favourite coffee shop while gazing out of the window, deep in thought about one of his recent cases, when the TV hanging up on the wall switched to the news report. Dread overtook him immediately, and in his astonishment, he dropped his mug. The sound of the china smashing on the ground, shards flying everywhere, made everybody startle within the shop, but also served to shock Lance out of his horrified trance and into a sprint, as he ran towards his squad car.

Laurel was in the court house. She was there to deal with Frank Bertinelli’s case, had been asked to handle it by Donner personally. Anger clouded Lance’s mind; Adam Donner, that snake. He must have known something like this would happen. The man was a selfish bastard - he was exactly the type of man to drag a recovering alcoholic into the fray to save his own skin. Right now, though, making sure Laurel was alright was his priority. Maybe she had managed to get out of the court house in time - he didn’t like to think where she was if she hadn’t.

Arriving at the scene, Lance had to go on foot almost a block to get to where the police had set up their base of operations due to the number of police cars blocking the streets, meaning he had run the rest of the way. Almost instantly when he got into the area, flashing his badge a few times, he saw Oliver Queen pacing up and down the asphalt, looking panicked, worried, but more importantly, furious. For a moment, Lance wondered what the hell he was still doing there - he should have been suiting up in his lair as the Arrow and swooping in to defeat the Huntress. But then, seeing the number of officers in the area, watching the young man pace, he realised that he was probably being kept there as a witness. But he couldn’t see Laurel anywhere.

Approaching the archer hurriedly, Lance grabbed Oliver’s shoulder and turned him towards him, wincing when the younger man flinched, tensing. “Oliver. Where’s Laurel? Did she get out?” he asked desperately.

Oliver looked utterly helpless, slumping in place. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lance, we got separated. She’s still inside.”

“Dammit,” he whispered, trying to rein in his rage.

“It’s my fault,” Oliver told him, not meeting his eyes. “I should have focused on getting my mom and Laurel out of there, but there were injured people and I just reacted… My instincts -”

“Your mother’s in there too?” No wonder he was so tensed and panicked. “Oh kid. It’s really not your fault. You can’t blame yourself.”

“Mr. Queen,” one of the officers called. “We need you inside the tent.”

Oliver shared a glance with Lance and the two of them strode into the tent side by side towards the current police captain, who was worrying his lip standing over his monitors.

“I want snipers with thermals on top of every building for a two block radius,” he barked into his radio, looking frustrated.

Just as Lance was about to speak, Adam Donner appeared from behind them, shaking as he shouted angrily, “This was not how it was supposed to go down, Captain! You promised me there wouldn’t be any casualties!”

So that sneaky little shit had been in on it. Rage overpowered him and Lance stepped forward, grabbing the ADA by the collar of his shirt as he snarled, “So you knew about this, huh? You son of a bitch! You personally told Laurel to take this case! You KNEW she would be in there!” Donner didn’t react, remaining stony faced, and that just made Lance completely snap. He punched Donner in the face as hard as he could, not even caring about the officers that tried to pull him back. Oliver’s steady hand being set on his shoulder was the only thing that stopped him from punching the police captain as well. “The future mayor of Starling is in there too - what, you weren’t aware that Moira Queen is one of those hostages? You disgust me. What were you guys thinking, putting all those innocent lives at risk?!”

The captain looked incredibly uncomfortable. “Listen! I was following orders.”

“Orders?!” He repeated disbelievingly.

The police phone which they used to communicate with criminals began to ring, and the captain turned away from them to answer, putting it on loud speaker. He kept his voice calm as he stated, “Ms. Bertinelli. No one has to die today.”

“My father does,” came the hissed reply. “And unless you hand him over to me, I’m going to start killing hostages.” The line clicked to signal she had hung up.

Oliver leaned in to explain in a hushed voice, “Bertinelli got out during the chaos. Police are holding him in protective custody.”

The captain, however, seemed even more agitated than before, stabbing a finger at the lawyer. “See this, Mr. Donner, is what happens when you let freaks with masks run wild,” he spat. Lance gritted his teeth to stop a sarcastic reply that at least the Arrow was doing a better job dealing with crime than HE was, but he could sense Oliver itching to take a hit the guy, so instead just put his own hand on the archer’s shoulder to ground him. Waving his hand towards the two men, the captain growled, “Get them the hell out of here.”

Oliver raised his hands, throwing intimidating glares at every officer who tried to touch him, and after Lance’s punch, nobody seemed willing to try and come near him, so the two men exited the tent without an escort. The detective had to admit he was frustrated that Oliver wasn’t doing more to try and diffuse the hostage situation. He should be out in his hood, freeing the hostages. He was curious at what would happen if the archer was confronted about it, and whether or not, in a time of desperation, for both of them had loved ones in danger, he would risk telling Lance his identity. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the Hood phone’s number.

Oliver’s cell phone immediately began ringing. The younger man seemed to stiffen for a moment, seeing Lance calling on his phone and obviously knowing the detective was calling the Arrow for help. Lance had to confess that was impressed by the way that Oliver was able to remain calm, pulling out his cell phone and clicking something on it before he raised the screen to show the older man.

A picture of Thea flashed on the screen. It must have been a nifty trick Felicity had taught him. “It’s my sister,” Oliver claimed.

He turned away, walking off a few steps, and Lance rolled his eyes, raising the phone to his ear to hear the modulated voice of the man standing only a few feet from him greet solemnly, “Detective.”

“Helena Bertinelli just took ten hostages. Laurel and Moira Queen are two of them.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of the situation. I’m handling it.”

He couldn’t take this anymore - this dodging around Oliver’s identity. Lance knew it provided plausible deniability for him, ensuring his safety if Team Arrow were ever arrested, but when Laurel was in mortal danger? When Moira was? Lance couldn’t stay quiet any longer.

Keeping his eyes fixed on Oliver’s back, he scoffed, “Come off it, kid, if you were handling it would you really be standing ten feet away from me pretending to be speaking to your sister?”

The kid went visibly still. “What are you talking about?”

“Oliver. I know,” he snarled. “I’ve known since your mom and stepdad have - who do you think alerted them to the fact that those photographs had been taken? They were sent to me so that I could expose you. Luckily I have more sense than that, and as much as I hate to admit it, I’ve accepted that this city needs the Arrow - it needs _you_. Now get the hell out of here and rescue my baby girl and your mother, you hear me? I’ll cover for you with the captain and help in whatever way I can. Just GO.”

He hung up, and watched as Oliver lowered the phone, staring at it for a second, frozen, before he leapt into action, lifting his cell back up to his ear and beginning to talk quickly, presumably to Felicity, Sara or Diggle. It was only because he walked past the detective, brushing his shoulder whilst shooting him a glance, that both showed his solidified trust in the older man and his acceptance that he knew, that he was able to hear a snippet of what the archer was saying.

“I’m with Lance as Oliver, and he just called the Arrow. Secret’s out - he knows. He’s offered to help in whatever way he can. Felicity, I need my work clothes - Laurel and my mother are still inside the courthouse. Now where’s Sara?”

Lance could only hope that Sara wasn’t reacting too badly, and would be level-headed enough to keep her cool and aid Oliver out in the field against Helena Bertinelli. Whatever happened though, he knew that Oliver would deal with it, and with his team aiding him - he could do anything.

* * *

“You don’t think Oliver’s going to make me slap more water, do you?”

Turning away from her computer set-up, where she was busy trying to track down Helena Bertinelli, Felicity ducked her head, snickering at Roy’s dejected expression, as once again, for the fifteenth time, he missed the target he was currently shooting arrows at. Diggle was across the other side of the Foundry, doing ammunition inventory, but the blonde could see him smirking, whilst Sara was sharpening her swords, chuckling.

“Oliver had to slap water for days before he was allowed to shoot a bow on the island,” Felicity offered.

“That doesn’t exactly reassure me.” He shot another arrow, but the red training bow jerked in his hands at the last second and the arrow went wide. He grimaced as it struck just three inches from the fuse box.

“O-kayyyy, that’s enough archery practice for you,” Felicity said, alarmed as she jumped up to double check that the fuse box was unharmed and intact. Relieved to find that it was, she couldn’t help but smile at Roy’s grumpy face, looking very much like a sulky five year old. “Put the bow down, Roy,” she told him sternly.

“Fine,” he mumbled.

At that point, alerts began to go off uncontrollably, alarms blaring from the monitors in a seemingly random, insane pattern. Panic struck the blonde - Oliver was out with Moira at the courthouse, and if there was something going on, Sara would have to go out without back-up. And Felicity hadn’t worked with the assassin as long as she’d worked with Oliver - she didn’t know Sara’s morals and what lengths she would go to, and what restraint she had. All the times the assassin had gone out in the field so far, Oliver had been there in some form or another, reassuring Felicity that the situation would be kept under control.

Sara and Diggle got to the monitors before she did, their eyes running over the screens, taking in the information there. She was alarmed to see that a cloud of anger took over the assassin’s face, and Sara moved away from the computer with a lethal look on her face that made uncertainty swamp Felicity’s mind. She had no idea how to keep Sara from going off the rails… nobody really did, not even Oliver.

“It’s Helena,” Diggle said solemnly.

“You mean Oliver’s psycho ex-girlfriend,” Felicity corrected, hurrying over and sliding into her chair so she could begin typing, pulling up the live news broadcast currently going out. “She’s taken over the courthouse and she’s keeping everybody in there hostage until the police give over her father - what if Oliver and Moira are still in there?” she asked worriedly.

“Oliver can handle himself, Felicity, I’m sure he’ll be okay,” Diggle tried to reassure her, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently.

Yes, she knew that, but Oliver wasn’t just looking after himself, he was going to be trying to keep Moira and Laurel and every other civilian in that building safe as well, and Felicity knew that he would put his life in danger to save any of them. She just hated the thought of her best friend (and maybe something more than that…) in danger.

“Look! Right there!” Roy pointed at the screen. Behind the news anchor, they could see the area in which SPCD had set up a temporary base, with some ambulances and police cars stationed around there. Injured escapees from the building were being loaded up onto stretchers, and officers were milling around, but what Roy was pointing out was a slightly blurry view of Oliver himself pacing back and forth across the area. “He got out.”

“I don’t see Laurel and Moira,” Felicity bit her lip.

“Maybe they’re being questioned?” Roy suggested.

They waited another ten minutes, Felicity hacking into the police radio frequencies so they could hear the chatter that was going on about the hostage situation, hoping to hear something about Moira and Laurel being alright. The news anchor just kept on repeating what she’d been saying before, only very occasionally being given new content with a short quote or an update from the police.

Finally, Felicity’s cell phone rang. She practically lunged to grab it from the counter, picking up immediately and rushing out, “Oliver, are you okay? We saw you got out, what’s going on?”

“I’m with Lance as Oliver, and he just called the Arrow.”

She continued typing, just absentmindedly acknowledging, “Oh,” until the realisation hit her, and she gasped, “Oh!” Turning back to Diggle and Roy, she commented, “It’s getting really hard to keep track of who knows whose secret identity.”

Oliver sounded tense, his voice clipped as he relayed, “Secret’s out - he knows. He’s offered to help in whatever way he can.”

Well that was certainly a surprise. “Oh my god, and he hasn’t arrested you yet? It’s a miracle. I’ll try and keep him posted, Oliver, we’ll have to get a comm unit to him somehow so he can be kept in the loop.”

“Felicity, I need my work clothes,” the archer told her firmly. “Laurel and my mother are still inside the courthouse.”

Diggle leaned forwards so his voice could be heard by their leader, informing him, “I’m on it. I’ll bring a comm for Lance too.”

“Now where’s Sara?” Oliver questioned, as both Diggle and Roy stepped away to begin packing the Arrow suit, his bow and his quiver into a duffle bag to drop off for him.

Felicity wheeled around and shrank in her seat when she realised that in the chaos of trying to work out what was going on and keep themselves updated with the police chatter, the assassin had slipped their watch. Sara had vanished. Not that Felicity would have really been able to keep her in the Arrow Cave anyway, but she was definitely gone. “Uh… she’s not here.”

“Where is she?” he demanded.

“On your cell phone there should be an app on the third page, it’s called Locate,” she told him, pulling up a new window so she could start triangulating the satellites to find Sara’s location. “I might have sewn a few trackers into her Canary costume without her knowing. You’ll be able to find her on a digital map.”

“A few trackers?” Oliver repeated. The noise behind him was getting quieter and quieter, probably meaning he was getting out of the SCPD’s cordoned off zone. “Felicity, exactly how many did you put on her?”

“Only about eleven,” she admitted sheepishly. “She’s an assassin though, she would have noticed some of them. I had to hide a few extra ones in the seams to make sure at least one remained.”

He sounded amused as he just simply replied, “Felicity…” He was always able to convey so much emotion and thought into three syllables, and whenever he said her name like that, an indescribable feeling clogged her throat and made her brain go fuzzy for a few seconds.

“Look, Dig’s leaving now,” she said. “Find Sara, get dressed and then kick your psycho ex-girlfriend’s ass, please. Do you want me to call Walter and Thea?”

“They’ll be freaking out otherwise,” Oliver sighed. “Mom texted them earlier to say that we were heading to the courthouse, they’ll think that we’re both still inside. Go ahead and tell them what’s going on, tell them I got out and I’m working on getting Mom out too… I imagine that my sister will be pissed off with me.”

“ _Massively_ pissed off with you.”

“Yeah, maybe send her a text if you want to avoid getting screamed at,” Oliver suggested. “Look, Felicity, I’ve got to go. Lance is distracting the police captain so I can get away, but I’m not sure how large of a window that’s going to give me for an escape.”

“When you get the suit, get onto comms immediately. And Oliver… please. Stay safe. Be careful.”

“Always am.”

* * *

“WALTER,” Thea yelled, fear creeping into her voice as the news story hit the media, just as she was scrolling through Twitter, incredibly bored due to her being cooped up in the safe house with her ex step-dad. “WALTER, MOM AND OLLIE ARE IN TROUBLE.”

The Brit crashed down the staircase in an uncharacteristically clumsy and panicked manner, looking freshly showered and very alarmed at what she was saying. Thea had just turned on the TV, turning the channel over to Channel 52 where the news was rolling, when he walked it.

Thea hated the fact that wherever her brother went, trouble seemed to find him. And now her mother was in danger too. The difference was, that Ollie could deal with whatever danger he was being placed into due to his training and experience, but her mother was pretty vulnerable. Sure, she could use a gun, but she was absolutely no good at hand to hand combat. The younger Queen woman kind of had to roll her eyes - Ollie had sent her, Walter and their mom to the safe house to keep them away from Helena Bertinelli, but ironically, he had led their mother right into a courthouse where she had attacked.

“Have you heard from the team?” Walter asked worriedly.

“No,” she shook her head. “Maybe Mom and Ollie got out?”

“Oliver’s there,” Walter noted, moving over to the TV screen to point to a slightly hazy figure pacing back and forth in the background of the screen, behind the news anchor. Semi-relieved that at least her brother was able to get out, Thea was still concerned. “I can’t see Moira anywhere.”

There was a note of agitation and worry in his voice that, even in the crisis, made a smile twitch at Thea’s lips. Yeah, her mother and ex step-dad’s insistence that nothing was going on between them was ridiculous. They still very obviously had feelings for each other, and Walter at the moment was reacting just like a concerned husband.

Whenever Thea called Felicity or Oliver, their phones went to voicemail. “None of them are picking up,” she growled frustratedly. “You would have thought that they’d at least send a text to let us know they have it under control.”

“They’re probably occupied at the moment, Thea,” Walter reasoned. “But yes, I do have to agree that I would like some reassurance. We can do nothing but sit and anticipate them calling.”

Walter kept on stressfully making cups of tea in the small kitchen, Thea sitting at the counter tearing apart some cookies whilst they watched the reports on the hostage situation, hoping for updates, the two of them anxiously waiting, and waiting, _and waiting_ , to know whether or not that the brother and mother of the Queen family were safe and alright.

After what seemed like forever, a text came in from Felicity, saying that everybody was pretty busy, but that Oliver was okay, he had got out, but Moira and Laurel were still in there with Helena, so he was suiting up to try and diffuse the hostage situation. She was going to keep them updated, but the weirdest part of the text was the fact that she told them to call Lance _of all people_ if they couldn’t get in contact with anybody.

“Does Lance know?” Thea asked incredulously, stirring her own cup of tea delicately. “Since when does Lance know? How _long_ has he known for?”

“Almost as long as you’ve known,” Walter sighed. “He’s the one who alerted Moira and I to the photographs. Fortunately, he’s been working with the Arrow for quite some time now, and considers himself an ally of Team Arrow.”

“But he _hates_ Ollie!”

“He doesn’t hate him. He… significantly disliked him, in the past. But he agrees that what Oliver is doing is necessary, and that he is a force of good within the city. He will support the team however he can.”

“I can’t wait until we see how this shitstorm sorts itself,” Thea muttered.

“Thea.”

“What? You can’t deny that you’re going to want to have an ear in the room where that confrontation between Lance and Ollie will go down. Seriously.”

“I’m not denying it.”

“I’ll bring scotch from Verdant if you bring popcorn.”

* * *

_Stupid_. Stupid, stupid idiot Laurel berated herself as she scurried up the back steps of the courthouse. Chaos was reigning in a place she had always considered a sanctuary and she couldn’t help but feel that it was partially her fault. If she had been willing to see the truth – that she was decoration, expendable décor at that – then perhaps Helena Bertinelli would not of had the opportunity to storm the building in search of her father in her quest for vengeance. Unsuspecting people would not be hostages of a vindictive woman, one who’d already proven that she did not care who got hurt, willing to end their lives on a whim if it got her what she wanted. Frank Bertinelli, her own father, dead.

Hearing noises down the hallway she’d snuck into, Laurel ducked into an office and behind a desk biting her lip to keep from gasping out when her knee collided with an open drawer. There was clink as an open, half-filled bottle of whiskey rolled from the back of the drawer. The amber liquor called to her, making her hands shake as she leaned her body against the desk with a gentle thud.

It would be so easy, Laurel thought, to reach for the bottle … to open it and lose herself in the burn of liquid traveling down her throat instead of dealing with the pathetic reality she found herself in. She closed her eyes, trying to block the temptation before her. The booze and pills had been a way to disguise the pain of losing and disappointing Tommy, but after being booted from the DA’s office they’d become her crutch. She didn’t have to think about being a washed up, sham of lawyer – of a person – when all she could feel was the buzz. Her green eyes popped open as Laurel thought about how nice it would be to smother everything she was feeling now with that buzz.

That familiar feeling would be so much easier to deal with than the mess inside her. Laurel found herself reaching for the bottle without really being conscious of the decision. She didn’t want to be that person who reached for a bottle, of alcohol or pills, to solve her problems because that choice only ever made things worse, not better. And yet she couldn’t seem to stop her hand from reaching out for bottle in front of her.

Her entire focus was on her hand hovering over the open drawer, her fingers stretching for the forbidden content which is why a cool hand gently clamping over her wrist startled her so thoroughly. The touch jolted thorough her as a fresh wave of fear hit her. She’d been found. As Laurel lifted her eyes she was surprised to find that the hand staying hers belong not to some henchman, but Moira Queen. Her stomach twisted at the compassionate worried look on the older woman’s face and Laurel couldn’t help but think she would have preferred a gunman. A random stranger would have had no idea of the internal battle she’d been losing. “Mrs. Queen,” she choked out on a shaky breath.

“Moira,” she corrected kindly as she pushed the offending drawer close. A tremor shuddered through her as she lost sight of the bottle she both did and did not want. “We both know you don’t want to do that.”

Dropping her eyes, Laurel let out a pained laugh. “Pretty sure I do.”

“Laurel,” Moira said her name in a motherly fashion, stroking a hand down her hair in comfort, “I know better. I couldn’t help you deal with your father’s problem,” the reference to her father’s alcoholism drew Laurel’s gaze back up to the Queen matriarch, “neither of us was in a place to allow that, but _please_ let me help you now.”

With her free hand Laurel swiped at the tears that had begun to escape her eyes. “Do you even know why I’m here today?” she asked. Moira shook her perfectly coifed head. “Decoration,” she answered verbalizing her earlier thought.

“What do you mean?” Moira asked, her brow furling in the manner both her children had inherited.

“The trial, like me,” she said with a bitter note, “is a sham. Just a trap to catch Helena and I didn’t see it. I should have,” Laurel recriminated as her hand twisted underneath Moira’s. She clung to her ex’s mother like a lifeline. “Everyone else did. Sara … she tried to tell me but I wouldn’t listen. I needed this,” she confessed, her voice wobbling as the tears she fought overcame her.

“Shh,” Moira soothed, pulling her in close and rubbing her back. “Shh. It’s alright, dear.”

“No, it’s not,” she choked out, burying herself in Moira’s embrace. Laurel felt the soft press of lips to the top of her head.

“We’ve all made mistakes Laurel,” Moira reminded her, her voice firm but laced with affection and concern. “You’ve witness and been effected by my worst and when I sat imprisoned in Iron Heights I felt undeserving a second chance. I still do,” she confided, lifting her head so their eyes could meet again.

With a gentle touch Moira wiped her cheeks dry as she continued, “I still marvel every day that I am getting a chance to not only make amends with my family, but with this city. I promise you,” she said tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, “you’ll get yours. And you have no reason to feel foolish about today, dear. You were used,” her tone and eyes went hard with that statement. Laurel had seen that frosty look on Moira’s face before and knew what was coming to the man who’d taken advantage of her. It almost made her feel sorry for Donner. _Almost_.

“Thank you,” Laurel whispered, having taken the other woman’s words to heart. They’d just begun to smile at each other when the door creaked open. Moira moved to shield her from the intruder, but Laurel found herself confused when her tense form relaxed. A distorted feminine voice greeted, “Mrs Queen.”

“Sa—Canary,” she heard Moira reply as she shifted to revel her presence to the masked vigilante. Laurel’s brow furled; she’d been unaware of the Arrow’s new partner having name, but shrugged it off to something in a mayoral briefing Moira had received. Though the relief she saw in the blue eyes that popped beneath the mask surprised her. It felt more personal than a hero a rescuing a random stranger.

Laurel watched the blonde’s head tilt slightly before she responded to an unheard question. “Inside,” she relayed. “I’ve got Moira Queen and Laurel Lance. They’re both okay.”

“Is that the Arrow?” Moira queried. The Canary nodded confirmation as she spoke to the Arrow advising him of her plan to get them out of the building. Laurel took that time to study the black leather clad woman. She was shorter than she expected, but the coil of muscle under her suit was undeniable. Laurel knew from the reports she’d read that the woman packed a hell of a punch and was willing to drop bodies whereas the Arrow had curtailed his more lethal habits.

“What about the other hostages?” she demanded as she and Moira got their feet. “We can’t leave them.”

“We have to get you two to safety,” the Canary rebutted as she eyed the hallway, making sure it was clear for their escape. She stepped out of the office fully expecting them to follow.

“We have to see to everyone’s safety,” Moira stated imperially as she entered the hallway and Laurel was grateful to have the determined woman on her side once again.

The masked woman huffed in frustration and answered another question they were not privy to, “They won’t leave.” The semi-private exchange happened in a rapid fire manner and Laurel’s favorite remark was the Canary telling the Arrow that she couldn’t very well knock them both out and expect to get them out of the building.

The one sided exchange took a darker, unexpected turn when the Canary asked, “Are you afraid of what she’ll,” Laurel knew the she in question was Helena Bertinelli, “do or what I’ll do?” There was brief pause before the Canary flatly declared, “I am what I need to be.”

* * *

Oliver’s heart was pounding in his chest almost painfully as he traversed across the rooftops of the buildings opposite the courthouse, using a specially developed telescope that Diggle has passed over to him when delivering the suit, trying to peer inside. But Helena wasn’t stupid - she’d had all the blinds drawn and placed all her armed men near the windows to block any possible view. His nerves were on the fritz, ever since Sara had ‘hung up’ on comms, telling him she’d do what she had to if faced with Helena. Oliver knew that if it came to it, in defence of Laurel, Sara would kill the Huntress without hesitation, and the fear of losing Sara to even more darkness scared the archer, although he didn’t like to admit it.

It was just like his mother and Laurel to refuse to leave the building without the other hostages being taken to safety. Both of them were strong, selfless woman, and Oliver couldn’t fight against them when he knew that they were right. Other innocents were trapped, being threatened and held hostage - it was Team Arrow’s responsibility to get them out. Oliver’s entire personality was based on relying on himself for survival and protecting himself and others, so leaving Sara to protect Laurel and Moira, and backing off, took a lot of mental effort.

Movement within the building pulled his attention back to the windows and Oliver’s breath was caught in his throat as he saw Sara in a full out battle against Helena, destroying almost everything in their path. Moira and Laurel weren’t in sight. Quickly realising in horror that it seemed as if the assassin was losing, he quickly fired a grappling hook arrow and put up a zip line. He managed to zip across just in time to catch Sara as she crashed out the window. Her body slamming into his knocked the wind out of Oliver, but maintain his hold on his teammate long enough for Sara’s hands to scrambled at his waist for purchase. Oliver gritted his teeth as her weight yanked him down, causing his arm holding onto his bow hooked on the line to strain uncomfortably.

The glided back down to the ground was precarious, but as their feet hit it Oliver angled his bow off the zip line even as he kept a careful watch over Sara as the assassin screamed in frustration. Sara's temper had her kicking the curb and looking as if she was about to go rabid. Oliver watched her cautiously for a moment, before finally speaking, his voice hesitant: “You all right?”

Furious, practically shouting as she hit him powerfully on the chest Sara ignored his question and spat, “Laurel! She’s still in there." 

“What about my mom?” He couldn’t help but question. His worry and concern that something would happen to Moira was somewhat distracting.

Sara didn’t answer, causing Oliver’s concern to spike, but at that point, his cell phone rang. He ground his teeth together as the screen showed it was Helena. Whipping around and stalking away from Sara as she continued to pace in a rage, he picked up and immediately growled out, “Helena, listen to me. This has to end.”

“I agree,” the Huntress said coldly. “And it ends with my father in a box.”

Shaking his head, Oliver snarled, “The police are never going to hand over your father! Give this up, Helena!”

“No, the police won’t. That’s why you’re going to do it.” Helena sounded smug, and didn’t that just cause alarm bells to go off in Oliver’s head. “A simple trade: my father, for Laurel and your mother.”

A tremor of fear lanced through the archer. He could tell that she was telling the truth. She had Laurel and his mother, and she was holding them captive, for random. And as payment, she wanted her father. “Helena, if you’ve hurt them –”

“Bring me my father, and they will live. Don’t, and I’ll tear them both apart.” The line clicked as she hung up, leaving Oliver panicked and even more furious than before.

Sara was vibrating with fury when the archer turned back to her, but to his surprise, the assassin’s voice was tired. “What does she want?”

“She wants to trade,” he told her. “We give her Frank, and she’ll give us Laurel and my mom.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

Oliver shook his head. “I think I have a plan.” Tapping his comm, he questioned, “Diggle, you online yet?”

“I’m here, Oliver,” Diggle replied. After the archer had met him earlier so that he could be handed his suit, he’d sent his partner off into the fray of the SCPD zone to track down Lance and keep an eye on the situation.

“Are you with Lance?”

“Why would my dad be with you?” Sara questioned confusedly, coming onto comms as she turned her own earpiece on. “How is he involved?”

The detective’s voice responded, causing a smile to quirk on the archer’s lips as Lance grumbled, “Believe me, I’m asking the same question, Sara.”

“Nice to have you with us, Mr. Lance,” Oliver smirked.

“Dad!?” Sara hissed.

“Hey, sweetheart. Guess who finally got dragged into this colossal mess of a team.”

“I resent that, we’re an amazing team,” Felicity piped up, sounding annoyed. Oliver ducked his head, smiling. She always liked to protest that they were a solid group, and to be honest, she wasn’t wrong. As dysfunctional as they were, Team Arrow was a family. “What’s the plan, Arrow?”

He explained it quickly, leading Sara into the shadows of an alleyway so that a police helicopter hovering over the courthouse couldn’t spot them. There were mixed reactions, but nobody could come up with anything better, so the plan was agreed and arranged. Everybody logged off the comms so that nobody was distracted, and began preparing.

Sara and Oliver swiftly reached the alleyway that they had arranged to meet up with the others in, slipping silently behind the SWAT team van just in time to catch sight of Frank Bertinelli being led towards it handcuffs by a detective.

“Where are you taking me?” The mobster asked, sounding irritated.

Lance piped up, announcing to the vigilantes that the plan was being carried out, allowing Oliver to sigh quietly in relief. “Safe house. Listen, detective, the front’s mobbed with reporters. Let’s take Bertinelli out the back alley, turn the van around.”

The next thing the archer heard was a loud cry of “Ow!” and a massive thumping sound as a body collapsed to the ground.

Bertinelli sounded agitated and alarmed as he shouted, struggling in his handcuffs, “Whoa! What the hell?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lance dismissed.

“What’s going on?”

Shoving him through the doors, Lance rolled his eyes and growled, “Just get in the van!”

Oliver motioned for Sara to follow him out into the light of the alleyway to show themselves to Lance and Diggle, their partner having been the one to knock the officer out. Lance locked the doors of the SWAT van, trapping Bertinelli inside before he turned to face the two vigilantes.

“Queen,” Lance greeted Oliver stiffly.

Oliver didn’t push down his hood, but he pulled down his mask, staring into the detective’s eyes without flinching. “Mr Lance,” the archer replied, his voice just as uptight.

Diggle looked between the two of them, amused. “Nothing’s changed then. Lance still hates you.”

“I don’t hate him anymore,” the detective protested, at the exact same time Oliver mumbled, “I don’t blame him.”

“You two are ridiculous,” Sara sighed. “Dad, what’s going on with the police?”

Tone softening as he addressed his daughter, Lance informed them, “SWAT’s getting ready to breach the courthouse.”

Oliver nodded, deciding, “Then we make the trade now.”

He turned to clamber into the back of the van, but his sleeve was caught and tugged back and instinct had Oliver's shoulders tensing, prepping for a fight. Realising that he had a bad reaction, the detective slowly withdrew his hand, and the archer noted the stiff positioning of his partners as they shifted nervously in anticipation of an argument.

“Listen, I’m not going to lose any sleep over Frank,” Lance said lowly, “but are you really going to serve him up to his daughter?”

Swallowing, Oliver made sure he connected with everybody’s gazes as he told them firmly, “No. No one dies tonight."

* * *

_Revenge is justice._

Helena remembered saying those words to Oliver. The conviction in her voice, the certainty she felt. She believed those words. The ideology had fueled her when she had been left broken after Michael’s murder. It had been the only thing to make the world bearable – the thought of avenging her fiancée, of breaking those who had stolen away her happiness, her love. Revenge had been her sole focus, blinding her to anything in the world outside of achieving of her goal.

She hadn’t seen the consequences nor cared about them – at least as long as she got what she desired before having to face them. Perhaps that is why Oliver Queen had caught her off guard. He’d stumbled into her machinations with haunted eyes and promises of not losing her soul in her quest. Most surprising of all he made her feel emotions she thought herself incapable of any longer. Quiet little flutterings of that woman she had been before with Michael.

Those sentiments has been echoes, mere mimicry. What soul she had been able to maintain in the vicious world in which she’d grown disappeared with Michael. The sliver of good she’d clung to and that had flourished in his love shriveled, drying up and dying like a leaf on a tree. Leaving her with nothing left to give, only violence to mete and a mission to carry out.

Helena had been anticipating joy. Or at least a sense of satisfaction. Justice for Michael Staton had finally been attained with Frank Bertinelli’s death. _Her father_.

Her father was dead and the objective she had for nearly four years had been reached, but instead of validation Helena felt numb. Empty.

Perhaps it would have felt different – _she_ would be different – if it had been her that ended him. In the chaos that ensued during the exchange of hostages for her father she’d been too wrapped up in battle with Oliver’s latest flame to have eyes on her father. The brutal clash had been an irritation keeping her from her aim and being on the losing end of it had stung, but when the aftermath hit Helena found herself standing over Frank’s lifeless body. His fatal wound an accident in the crossfire with SCPD SWAT.

Her howl of rage, at being denied her right – or was it for her loss? – still rang in her ears but that feeling, and all emotion, was gone now. Sitting in an orange jumpsuit, handcuffed to a table at the SCPD precinct she felt nothing. Not even when Oliver entered the room. Hollowed out she had merely glanced up at him and asked how he managed to get in to see her. They made innocuous small talk that included quips about family donations and tropical prisons, before she admitted the truth she could no longer deny. “You said killing him wouldn’t change anything. I never expected you to be right about that.”

Oliver sighed, shifting uncomfortably on his feet as he edged closer to the table, “I was wrong too.”

She titled her head and studied him momentarily before asking, “About?”

“Being able to help you,” he replied, regret written on every aspect of his form – the shadow in his eyes, the hunch in his shoulders, the frown on his face, and the rough cadence of his voice. “My methods … I was killer, like you, and trying to show you another way before I was truly able to find it myself was a mistake.”

“You were willing to learn though,” Helena replied. “To be better.”

“I’m trying,” he agreed. “And I think I’m proof that it’s never too late.”

Helena released an amazed chuckle. After all she’d done Oliver Queem was still trying to save her when it was so clear to her that she was beyond redemption. Still she could not find it in herself to crush that fragile belief he had in her. “Maybe … but now that my fath—now that’s he’s dead, all I can think is that he and Michael are together while I’m here. Alone.”

Oliver stepped forward then to cup his hands over hers, his blue eyes bore into hers as he told her with heartfelt sincerity, “You’re not alone.”

 

* * *

 

Oliver didn’t anticipate feeling as dejected and sad as he did when he was escorted out of the interrogation room, away from Helena, after his time with her was up. There was a deep ache in his chest, and he knew it was his heart, hurting because the woman he’d failed was suffering, and going to spend the rest of her life in prison. Well, as far as he knew - the police had informed him that Helena was going to be moved to a secure government facility in Hub City, but that could just be a front. It would be just like Amanda Waller to snatch the Huntress up for the Suicide Squad. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, Oliver tried to convince himself. After all, if Helena behaved, survived and worked off her time, she could be released. She could live a full life, free from vengeance and guilt, free from her father’s influence and legacy.

Sighing, the vigilante took a seat on a chair next to Lance’s desk, which was currently empty, due to the man being busy processing Helena’s arrest through the system.

 _Legacy_. It was something he’d been pondering on for a while. Frank Bertinelli had left behind a legacy of destruction and heartbreak. Oliver’s father, Robert Queen, had left behind a legacy that was almost too much for the archer to bear, yet Oliver had carried that weight upon his shoulders for two years now. He’s shared his burden with Felicity and Diggle, and eventually with Sara and Roy … maybe it was time to share it with his family as well.

Laurel and his mother were wrapped up in blankets, seated on chairs in the captain’s office as he took their statements. Oliver waited outside for them both patiently, having arranged with the team to bring Moira to the lair, where Diggle would meet them with Thea and Walter after picking them up from the safe house. Sara was going to drop by a little later to take Laurel to her apartment, due the fact that Lance would be unavailable. Oliver had a lot to discuss with the ex-detective, and it was inevitable that Lance would have questions. Taking the older man to the Arrow Cave, a secure location where the archer felt like he had the upper ground was ideal.

Both women looked exhausted and worn out when they emerged from the office. Immediately, Oliver surged to his feet, concern fleeting over his face as he started forwards towards them.

Moira managed a small smile as she greeted him, “Oliver,” relief and weariness clear in her tone.

Her hair was slightly mussed and her clothes were ruffled from where she’d been manhandled roughly by Helena’s hired men; Oliver ground his teeth, trying to restrain the anger that bubbled to the surface at the thought of somebody laying a hand on his mother. Her arms opened up and he took his chance to step forwards and envelop her in a protective embrace, finally breathing out, relaxing. His mother was safe.

“Are you alright?” Oliver murmured anxiously, checking her over carefully for any injuries. If a single inch of his mother was harmed, he would be out for blood. Nobody hurt his family.

“I’m fine,” Moira replied firmly, however there was a slight waver in her voice. Uncertainty flashed through him, causing him to make a small worried noise, but his mother raised her fingers and brushed them over his cheek gently, reassuring softly, “Oliver. I am fine. I am not hurt. A little shaken, but physically, fine.”

He nodded, swallowing, before turning to Laurel and reaching out. His ex-girlfriend smiled and took his hand, squeezing it. “Are you alright?” Oliver questioned. Helena had met Laurel before, when he had dated her briefly, so if the Huntress had wanted to lash out at somebody, he’d probably wanted to lash out at Laurel.

“I’m okay. The Canary mostly kept us out of the fray, and then when Helena held us both, she didn’t touch us.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but thank god for the vigilantes,” Moira said. Oliver had to physically hold himself back from rolling his eyes. There was a sly, slightly teasing hint in his mother’s voice; she knew perfectly well now who the vigilantes were, of course. But she’d always enjoyed a private joke. “Nobody was hurt, thanks to their intervention, and that’s all we could really hope for. There were no innocent casualties.”

“Frank Bertinelli?” Oliver asked dryly.

“Hardly innocent.” Lance appeared practically from nowhere, wrapping his arms around Laurel in a hug. Oliver grinned as he saw the detective’s eyes squeeze shut as he embraced her, his shoulders slumping. “He got what he deserved. You okay, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, daddy, I’m fine,” Laurel smiled.

“As long as you’re sure,” Lance nodded. Chuckling darkly, he added, “This whole getting-kidnapped-monthly-by-the-bad-guys thing… I’m really not a fan of it.”

“Neither am I, believe me,” Laurel responded. “Are we heading home?”

Before Lance could reply, Oliver cut in smoothly, “Actually, Mom and I need to borrow your dad for an hour or two, Laurel, if you don’t mind.”

Laurel looked suspiciously between them all and turned to her father, asking, “Why?”

Lance stared directly into Oliver’s eyes, and the archer started back, refusing to back down and remaining strong and firm in his stance. After a few seconds, he broke away from the vigilante’s gaze and told his daughter, “The Bertinellis have had dealings with Queen Consolidated in the past, Moira just wants to hand over some papers that can hopefully incriminate several other high-status people within their circle. I need to check them over and sign them off.”

Laurel looked disbelieving, but allowed, “Okay.”

“Sara’s going to come over and pick you up,” Oliver informed her, resting a hand on his mother’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re okay. Want to go for coffee later this week?”

“Sure,” Laurel nodded, sighing as she took a seat next to her father’s desk. “Dad, call me when you get home, please?”

“You got it, sweetheart.” The detective pressed a gentle kiss to his daughter’s forehead before pointedly looking between Oliver and Moira, saying, “We should get going.”

“Indeed,” Moira agreed stiffly.

Moira led the way out to the back of the precinct to the car park, where Oliver had parked Thea’s black BMW, whilst Oliver brought up the rear, making sure that Lance was following closely and not about to bolt for it. Thankfully, the detective didn’t protest at all, and clambered into the back of the car silently. Oliver slipped into the driver’s seat while Moira took shotgun. It was only once they were on the road and beginning to head into the Glades that Lance spoke up.

“Is this the part where you take me to your secret lair and kill me?” He questioned dryly.

“Oh heavens no,” Moira replied. “Killing you would be terribly messy and inefficient.”

“Mom,” Oliver rolled his eyes.

“Blood stains are a horrible inconvenience, sweetheart,” Moira insisted.

“Trust me,” he replied. “I know. We’ve had to replace the couch at the back of the foundry twice. And I spent a fortune trying to get blood stains cleaned off the back seats in Felicity’s Mini when you shot me that one time.”

“So this kidnapping is gonna be a threatening, sorta blackmail, keep-your-mouth-shut-or-you’ll-get-arrowed thing?” Lance asked.

“More of an initiation,” Oliver corrected. “You were already kind of on the team anyway, without knowing my identity.”

“When you say initiation, that makes me think of it like a cult.”

“They’re certainly insane enough to be in a cult,” Moira muttered.

“Hey!”

“I’m just saying, dear, there are certain things a mother doesn’t need to see and know about her son, and I think I’ve seen plenty.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Last Thursday?”

“Okay, that was your choice to be in the lair when I got back from patrol, and you did not need to stay and watch me stitch up that cut in my groin.”

“What sort of circus group am I getting involved with?” The detective grumbled behind them, obviously not intending for the comment to be heard, but it still made a smile twitch at Oliver’s lips. “I have my work cut out for me to get you all under control and get some parental supervision, now that you’ve corrupted Moira and Walter.”

“Welcome to the team, Mr. Lance.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :) Hope you enjoyed! Kudos and comments are very much appreciated.


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